


Stray No More

by ConstantlyTiredReader



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Medical Abuse, Lack of Communication, M/M, Mild Language, Miscommunication, Pet Adoption, Pining, Roommates, Sickness, Spicyhoney - Freeform, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Underfell Undyne (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Sans (Undertale)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2020-07-30 20:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20103088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantlyTiredReader/pseuds/ConstantlyTiredReader
Summary: All Stretch was trying to do was help the stray cat he found on his doorstep. Somehow, though, he ends up with a new pet and a roommate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for potential warnings.

The first thing that passes through Stretch’s mind as he wakes up is _ huh, i don’t remember changing my alarm to sound like a crying cat. weird_. 

Yeah, needless to say, not his most intelligent thought, but hey, give him a break: considering that he lives in a ‘no pets allowed’ complex, it wasn’t the _ most _ far fetched assumption he could have made.

Still too asleep to deal with this mystery, Stretch pulls on his nearest hoodie and goes to investigate. His bones creak in protest at moving so suddenly, especially after a night spent snoozing on the couch. _ Stars, he has really got to stop doing that to himself. _ Stumbling blearily through his home, he manages some creative attempts at profanity when he inevitably stubs his toe. 

Finally, he makes it to his front door, only to remember that he could have shortcutted across the room instead. Whoops. Next time, maybe. Stretch takes a second to double check that he is decent enough so that he won’t traumatise any passersby, then opens the door.

“oh shit!”

Well, at least he can say he was right about it being a crying cat. So, kudos to him, he guesses.

What matters now, though, is trying to figure out what to do with his loud little guest.

The cat seems pretty tiny, small enough to fit easily in his hand. Too small, actually, not that Stretch is a good judge of that. But from what little he does know, he shouldn’t be seeing the thing’s ribs through its fur, matted as hell and the indiscernible greyish-brown of filth. Stretch feels a burst of anger against the cat’s owner, until he notices an important detail: no collar. Most likely, it is a stray.

What really seems concerning, though, is the large trickling of blood coming from its back leg.

“let’s get a look at that,” he says, kneeling down. The cat just yowls at him, swiping a small paw defensively from its curled up position. “it’s okay,” he croons softly, “i’m gonna help you.” Whether or not the animal understands him is debatable, but it at least lets him get nearer.

Yeah, this doesn’t look good. Not at all.

One quick google search later, he carefully wraps up the cat in a spare blanket to prevent it from worsening the injury and places it in a small bin for transport. He earns a few more high pitched, plaintive mewls in response.

The slight, lingering odour of wet dog and disinfectant hits him the moment he enters the nearest vet clinic. “hello,” he calls out as the door closes behind him, glancing around at the empty room. “anyone here?”

“Just a minute,” someone — presumably an employee — responds from behind a closed door.

While he waits, Stretch wanders around the waiting room, reading the various posters decorating the walls. Bright and cheery, most remind pet owners to make sure that their animals are up-to-date with their immunizations. Halfway through an extremely detailed poster regarding Lyme disease in dogs, he hears a door open and close behind him. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting; our receptionist is out today. How can I help you?”

Slowly, so that he doesn't freak out the poor cat, he turns to the front desk. There, a skeleton in dark blue scrubs stands, shuffling around some papers.

A tall, ruggedly attractive skeleton in dark blue scrubs.

_ Focus! _

Making his way to the front desk, he says, “i, uh, found this cat.” On cue, another small cry sounds from the bin. He lifts it up so that the other skeleton can take a better look.

His expression rapidly shifts to a sharp frown, pointed teeth making him look menacing. “Did you bother looking for the mother or for a litter before coming here?”

“no, i didn’t have the time. i’ve never really seen many strays in the area, though. why?”

Unwrapping the blanket, red eye lights burn like coals as he examines the cat more carefully. “I could be wrong,” he admits, although an undercurrent of anger is present in his voice, “but he barely looks old enough to be weaned. May I?”

Stretch hands over the box. “of course.”

“Excellent. Now, if you’ll follow me, we’ll bring this little one over for the vet to take a look at.” Promptly, he collects a handful of papers and leads Stretch to an examination room.

From there, the vet, a yellow lizard monster, takes over. The skeleton — who she refers to only as ‘assistant’ in her hurry — helps Stretch fill out the various pages of paperwork between his other tasks. 

“H-he will n-need to get shots,” the vet, Doctor something or other, informs Stretch.

He pauses in his writing. “okay?”

The assistant, busy with bathing away layer upon layer of dirt from the stray’s coat, clarifies, “She’s wondering if you’ll be paying.”

“oh.” 

The thing is, even without them paying the price, Stretch knows without a doubt that this will be super expensive. The cat truly seems to be a stray; no microchip was found to identify him as belonging to someone, yet his behaviour shows signs that he was domesticated at one point. Abandoned, the vet had concluded, at an extremely young age.

Beyond all the vaccines, there is the other medical care needed for the cat. Not neutering. Or, at least, not yet: the kitten is still too young. The cut on his leg, however, is deep and ragged, requiring stitches once he is clean enough to suture. The vet's assistant already noted that it looks infected, too. That will probably require some antibiotics. And those are just the things he knows of.

If he was able to keep the cat, this probably wouldn’t be too big of a deal. Sure, it might hurt his bank account for the next few months, but he could suck it up. 

However, that simply isn’t the case. There is no way his landlord will let Stretch keep him. Hell, he remembers hearing about the time his neighbour got busted for having a pet _gold__fish_, of all things!

Of course, at the peak of his uncertainty, the little thing, fur fluffed up from being toweled, just gives him this _ look_. Eyes wide and dilated, it reminds him of the hopeful look his brother used to give him when he wanted something. Ridiculous, he knows, but how can he argue with that?

“yeah,” he exhales, “i’ll pay. for anything he needs.”

Without pause, the vet says, “Good. N-now, assistant, hold him still.” He nods, moving quickly.

Stretch forces himself to turn away the moment the large, gloved hands restrain the kitten. His small cries increase in both volume and frequency.

“You can step outside, if you want. We’ll be done soon.”

“thanks.” Without a second thought, Stretch takes advantage of the offer.

Despite the wall separating him from everything, he _ swears _ he can still hear the pained vocalizations. His imagination paints a soul-rending scene. Scared and confused, surrounded by strange monsters who are getting up close to where he is hurt… he would be freaking out too.

<strike> Needles… so many needles… the Doctor says that bone is harder to pierce, which is why he needs to use the big ones. He hates it so much, but it's better that than his soul... </strike>

With a sigh, he settles onto one of the many uncomfortable chairs near the window and takes out his phone. He had better start looking into shelters for the little guy to go to. 

* * *

The assistant returns in a few minutes, carrying what looks like a cardboard purse. Or a giant takeout box with holes.

“Here you go," he says, handing it over. Up close, he can see the hint of a tiny pink nose through one of the holes. "Be careful; he’s sleeping.”

Stretch nods, making sure not to jostle the container. “okay.” Still seated, he opens the lid. “oh! did you switch cats on me?”

This animal looks _ nothing _ like the stray he had found on his doorstep this morning! His fur is glossy and thick other than the spot on his upper leg, shaved clean and neatly stitched. Now, he can actually tell that the cat is light grey in colour, nearly white. 

The assistant’s mouth twitches upwards, eye lights twinkling in amusement. “No, I can assure you that this is the same cat.”

“can i pet him?” 

“Yes. Just be mindful of his rear end, where he received his shots.”

“gotcha.” Gently, he strokes that soft fur. 

Stars, it’s going to be hard to give him up.

The other skeleton coughs once, catching Stretch’s attention. “Do you need me to go over supplies with you, or should I proceed to care instructions?”

Stretch raises his brow. “what do you mean, ‘supplies?’”

“You brought him here in a plastic box. I’m assuming, therefore, that you aren’t a cat owner, which means that you will need things to take care of him.”

“but i’m not going to take care of him!” He can’t.

“Well, you can’t leave him here. We don’t have the facilities.”

“i know that,” Stretch snaps. The kitten startles awake. He hisses, baring his pointy little teeth. Stretch moves his hand away for now. Even if they are small, he would rather not find out what those teeth feel like biting down on his fingers. “i was planning on bringing him to a shelter, but the only one i can find that isn’t full…” He trails off, unwilling to complete his sentence.

He doesn't need to, however, as the assistant finishes, “Is the one that euthanizes if they can’t find a home right away. I see. Then what?”

“that’s a good fucking question, isn’t it?”

“Could you foster him for a bit?”

“no, i can’t.” The assistant opens his mouth to say something, but Stretch doesn’t give him the chance. Like hell is he going to be judged for something out of his control. “look here, i would _ love _ to give this little guy a home, so you can shut it. when i say i _ can’t_, it’s because i really can’t. sorry for renting from a buzzkill of a dude who won’t let me take home a furry little friend. kinda out of my control, you know.” 

He takes a deep breath, only to pause. The vet’s assistant is just standing there impassively, hands held loosely behind his back. Taking it all in without complaint.

A sheepish flush colours Stretch's cheekbones. “sorry. you, uh, probably didn’t come to work to deal with my personal shit, huh?”

“No,” he agrees, “but I’m still getting paid.”

“i guess.” Moving slowly, he returns his hand to the inside of the carrier. When the cat doesn’t react, he tries petting again. 

The assistant is still there, but he isn’t saying anything. He isn’t doing anything either; he is just staring at Stretch and the kitten with those bright red eye lights. 

And staring. 

And staring.

And… okay, this is starting to get pretty uncomfortable. 

Then, just before Stretch decides to book it, payments be damned, the other _ finally _ says something. “How long,” he whispers with that <strike>sexy</strike> gravelly voice, “until your rent contract is up?” 

Never mind; he is back in uncomfortable territory. “why?” Stretch asks slowly. As of last time he checked, that is none of his business.

“Nothing sinister.” Yeah, because that is exactly what someone who is planning something sinister would say. “Just tell me.”

Well, what is the worst thing that can happen? It isn’t like he is telling him where he lives. Not that it would make any difference; if the guy really wanted to find out, all he would have to do is read the paperwork he signed. “this week, actually.”

Without missing a beat, the assistant continues, “Do you have a place you could go this week where you can bring the kitten along with you?”

“i mean, there’s my bro’s place, but—”

“Good. Now, my boss can’t know about this. She used to work in the research and general practitioner sides of medicine, and is very strict about conflicts of interest.” 

Stretch stifles a laugh. The way he is talking, this sounds like some kind of secret agent, life or death situation. “okay?”

“I’m aware that this is unconventional, but I’ve been looking for a roommate, and my place is pet-friendly. What do you think?”

What does Stretch think? 

Well, first off, he thinks that his current landlord is an asshole. It has been three months and he still hasn’t gotten someone in to fix the hot water tank. Stretch would try calling (or texting, or emailing, or…) again, but there honestly isn’t a point; he never responds to anything. Ignoring that, Jerry is just a jerk in general. On the odd time that he has had to pay his rent in person instead of online, Stretch ended up getting caught as Jerry complained over the phone about everything. Never has he ever felt so sorry for a telemarketer. Plus, his landlord always smells of an awful combination of mouldy cheese, football locker room and garbage.

Glancing down at the kitten, who is starting to purr, he decides that, eh, it may be a huge risk, but he could probably do worse.

“why not? do i get to know your name, or do i just call you roomie?”

That earns a small smile. “You can call me Edge. I’d ask for your name,” he says, pointing to a line near the top of the paperwork he had filled in, “however, I already know.”

“well, good to know that we’ve got the basics out of the way.”

“Not quite." Pointing inside the crate, he explains, "This little one still needs a name.”

“doomfanger.”

“I’m sorry?”

“his name is doomfanger. i mean, take a look at these little chompers! so scary! so fierce! so doomy! it’s the perfect name!”

Edge shakes his head, muttering as he adds that to the file in his sharp handwriting. “I can’t believe I’m going to be the owner of a cat named _ Doomfanger_, of all things!”

“co-owner,” Stretch corrects with a grin. “besides, it’ll grow on you.”

He snorts skeptically. “I hope not.”

Oh yeah, living with Edge is going to be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:
> 
> Heads-up for some implied past medical abuse. Nothing explicit, but if you would prefer to skip this, stop at "Stretch takes advantage of the offer" and continue at "The assistant returns".
> 
> There are also mentions throughout of injuries to a cat and medical procedures to help it recover, but they are mild and non-graphic. The cat ends up being okay.
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blue finds out about some important changes in his brother's life.

Humming to himself, Blue unlocks his door. Ah, there is nothing like a fulfilling day of work, as cliché as that may sound. 

He pauses, though, when he walks in to see all the lights turned on. That is mildly concerning, to say the least. Blue is at least ninety-seven percent sure that he turned those off before heading to the school this morning, as he does every day. Moving cautiously, he continues to make his way to the living room. Is the television also on? Face scrunched in concentration, he stops to listen. Sure enough, his brother’s favourite show is playing quietly in the background.

Interesting.

Turning the last corner, it is clear that Papy is curled up on the couch. Nothing too odd there, he supposes; it wouldn’t be the first time that he has shown up out of the blue to visit. To be honest, Blue wishes he would do it more often, even if it would be a lot nicer to receive _ some _ warning so he can do any last minute grocery shopping if needed.

His attention, however isn’t so much on his brother as it is the small ball of fur curled up on his lap. That. That is certainly new.

“Uh, brother?” Blue asks slowly, setting down his keys. “Is… is everything okay?”

Papy tilts his skull up, grinning widely. “yeah. hey, do you have any can openers?”

“Yes?” Blue answers, feeling somewhat puzzled. Why wouldn’t he have a can opener? In fact, he knows for a fact that even Papy should have one of his own, unless it got lost in the abyss that is that one drawer in his kitchen, which is all too possible. Or worst yet, lost in yet another trash tornado.

“great! can you, uh, go get it? i would, but—” he gestures to the ball of fur, “—i’m kinda stuck here with doomfanger. plus, i wouldn’t know where to find it.”

Still bewildered at this development (why _ Doomfanger_, of all things?), Blue replies, “The kitchen would be a good place to start.”

“yeah bro, but i know better than to mess with that.” Yes, that he does. After what happened during last year’s short-lived prank war, he should remember well. “please? he’s hungry.” 

Blue sighs. His brother knows he can’t say no to anyone needing food. “Fine. But you’re telling me where your little guest came from once I return,” he adds sternly.

“can do!”

As soon as he turns on the oven to preheat and grabs some veggies to snack on in the meantime, Blue returns with a can opener, passing it over to his brother. Papy takes something out of his inventory — probably cat food, now that he thinks about it — and gives him a sheepish smile.

"whoops. i guess i wasn’t paying attention when i bought this stuff. my bad.” Blue shakes his head slightly while Papy struggles with pulling up the tab to open the can. The crisp crack of the lid being peeled up blocks out the car commercial playing in the background. Stars, does that stuff ever reek! Resisting the urge to cover his nasal cavity with his sleeve, he watches silently as his brother tries to coax the cat into eating. It doesn’t work. The small feline just stares wide-eyed and unmoving, as though unsure of what to do with it.

“Is it okay?”

“yeah. or, i think he is, at least. the vet said some cats have a decreased appetite after being immunised. besides,” he croons, gently stroking its — or _ his_, apparently — fur. Taking a closer look, Blue notices the perfect square of exposed skin around a long row of stitches. “someone’s had a long, exciting day.”

“Feel like telling me about this long, exciting day?” Blue prompts, sitting down on his reading chair.

“right!” Moving slowly, he places the can of food by his feet. “well, it all started when i woke up this morning…”

As his brother recounts the story, all he can do is smile and nod in response, despite all of his concerns. 

This is such an impulsive decision! Yes, Blue is glad that he didn’t just leave the small kitten outside and wounded. And yes, he supposes he would do the same thing, if there wasn’t anywhere else for the cat to go. 

But what does Papy even know about taking care of a pet? _ Especially _ a young, injured one! Half the time, it seems like he can barely remember to take care of himself. Too many times has Blue gone over to visit, only to find the house in complete disarray, fridge empty of everything save for some flat soda and a half eaten sandwich.

Then again, perhaps the responsibility will help Papy. Give him something to care for. After all, he did well when he was raising Blue, didn’t he? Sure, meals were never fancy, but they kept him well-fed throughout school. Papy was the one who helped tutor him through his tougher classes, even when he was working countless part time jobs of his own. He made him those customised superhero costumes out of old scraps, so he could truly be the Magnificent Blue. In the back of his closet, he still cherishes that very first outfit, now too small and ragged from overuse, the fabric faded from the vibrant colour of his namesake to a dingy grey.

Most importantly, he loved Blue, and Blue loved him back. He always will.

Although, it still bothers him how young his brother was, taking care of Blue alone. It doesn’t make sense; yes, he is older than him, but not _ that _ much older. Shouldn’t there have been someone else?

Papy doesn’t like to talk about when they were little, especially their parents — or more precisely, their lack thereof. As far as he is concerned, it has just been the two of them, living happily as brothers. Blue doesn’t like it, not at all, but he respects it. Even though, professionally speaking, it raises so many questions. Questions that Blue just can’t remember the answers to.

It doesn’t matter, though. Not right now. His point is, Papy always was better at taking care of himself when he also had to take care of someone else. This could be a good thing. 

Stars, he hopes that this will be a good thing.

“oh,” Papy exclaims with his mouth full of partial chewed carrot sticks, much to Blue’s disgust and dismay, “i almost forgot to tell you. i’ve got a roommate!”

“How?”

His brow furrows, clearly confused. “whaddya mean, ‘how?’”

How can he say this nicely? Blue remembers the state of the tiny building the last time he visited, on the verge of falling apart. Supposedly, the glass windows were duct taped together because of hail damage, but that doesn’t take away the fact that his windows were taped together! He remembers walking carefully through the narrow walkways, struggling only partially because of his brother’s clutter but mostly because of how small they were to begin with. How, when seated upon the toilet, he was simultaneously able to wash his hands in the leaky sink, flip the light switch and open the mouldering shower curtain. There isn’t even another functional bedroom for a roommate to live in, unless they were to sleep on the couch.

Eventually, he decides bluntness is probably the way to go. “You know why. Where are they supposed to live?”

His brother gives him an amused look, brow bone raised, as though _ he _ is the one being ridiculous right now. “at his house. i’m moving.”

“Oh.” That is all he can say.

Deep down, Blue knows that he is happy about the news. It’s about time, after all, that he finally leaves that awful place. Yet, there is a pang of sadness that he feels all the way to his soul. Selfish sadness that Papy would take this other person’s offer to live with them but not Blue’s. He pushes the feeling away. This is about his brother, not him. “tell me about them.” Maybe, this can help give him an idea of what kind of casseroles to make as a housewarming gift. Preferably something with some hidden vegetables and extra calcium for his brother. Goodness knows he could do with some extra nutrition.

He smiles, a real one filled with a dreamy quality. It makes him wonder if there is something else his brother has been keeping from him. “well, he’s a skeleton.”

Good; he can make sure there is lots of milk in the casserole, then. “and…?”

“and he’s tall.”

“What else?” 

“fuck, bro, he’s really hot, in that bad boy kinda way.” Ah, that would explain a lot, then. “he’s got this huge scar on his face, right here,” he says, drawing a line over his eye socket with his finger, “which only adds to the effect. and his eye lights…” He shivers. “wowie.”

“Someone’s got a crush,” Blue singsongs teasingly, some of his sadness already lifting away.

“no. well, maybe. we’ll see.”

“Uh huh.” Blue grabs a floret of broccoli, dipping it into some ranch. Before taking a bite, he asks, “Does the future roommate have a name?”

“yeah, it’s edge. did i tell you he’s good with animals?”

“No, brother, you didn’t.”

“well, he is. that’s actually how we met.” He pauses, eye lights bright as he follows the cat, who has unfurled himself. Gingerly, he wanders off of Papy’s lap. Back and forth and back and forth, the kitten paces, looking over the ledge before finally jumping. His brother releases a breath, which he had probably been holding ever since his new pet started moving. When Doomfanger (stars, why did Papy give him that as a name?) starts sniffing at the can of food, he continues, “edge was the vet assistant when i took this little guy in. he needs a roomie, i need a new place to live that isn’t a complete and utter hellhole and doomfanger needs a loving home, so it works out great for everyone!”

“Brother!”

“well, i should probably get packing, bro. need to move out this week, and all.” He stands up, stretching until the magic holding his joints together crackles and pops loudly. Doomfanger’s fur bristles momentarily at the disturbance, flattening down as he decides it isn’t a threat worth worrying about. “mind if i leave doomfanger with you real quick? thanks,” he says, not giving Blue a chance to respond, “you’re the greatest!”

“Papy!” He tries one more time, only to sigh in disappointment. “And he’s gone.” He grabs the plate of veggies, side stepping around the cat, who is nibbling away at his food. Good. His brother will be glad to hear that. “Well,” he announces to the mostly empty room, “I should probably get working on supper, shouldn’t I?”

Naturally, he doesn’t receive any response.

Placing the chicken that he had had marinating since last night into the oven, he starts peeling potatoes.

He can’t believe Papy would walk into such an important decision with so little thought! Of all the foolish, reckless things he could do, with absolutely no regard for his own safety! One would think that after years of warning a younger Blue about the stranger danger and trusting blindly in people, he would follow his own advice. But _ no_. Instead, he goes and accepts the first offer he receives.

He reaches into the bag of potatoes again, only to fumble around, not finding anything. To the side, a mountainous stack of peeled spuds stands as testament to his frustrated peeling, far more than he needs to make mashed potatoes for two people.

Well, then. 

It looks like the casserole he will be making for Edge and Papy is going to be potato based.

By the time he finishes making supper, his brother still hasn’t returned. He covers everything to keep it as warm as possible before sitting down to read for a few minutes. Might as well relax a bit before supper, he supposes. Goodness knows he has a lot of not exactly pleasant things he needs to discuss.

Book in hand, Blue is about to hop onto the couch, only to freeze, noticing the cat grooming his paws at the absolute last second. He serves as a living and breathing reminder of the upcoming changes in his brother’s life.

Voice wavering ever so slightly, Blue asks, “You’ll help keep him safe, won't you?” 

Doomfanger’s answer doesn’t inspire much confidence, needless to say. With a small mewl, he leaps off the couch and scrambles under it. He remains there until Papy comes back, cowering in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time for updates, to talk or to find out some of my random, mostly sleep-deprived thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stretch realises living with Edge isn't as perfect as it seemed.

So…

The thing is, Stretch may not have thought this whole roommate thing all the way through.

Sure, it is nice not having to deal with Jerry anymore. And there are some other, obvious advantages. Having access to a washer and dryer in house that doesn’t require any coins to operate certainly comes to mind.

But Edge… it’s like him and Stretch are from two completely different universes! 

In Edge’s universe, it seems that nuclear disaster will strike down if the house isn’t one hundred percent spotless, one hundred percent of the time. Sure, Stretch can admit that he isn’t exactly the neatest person out there. In fact, he is a bit of a slob; he can own up to it. Goodness knows he used to drive Blue a little crazy because of his tendency to leave little knickknacks everywhere, or to forget to wash the dishes sometimes. 

But Edge, he takes the whole cleanliness thing to a whole other level. He means, the fucker makes chore charts, for crying out loud! Who does that kind of shit? … Well, okay, his brother did — and probably still does, to be honest — but that’s beside the point! The point is, Stretch doesn’t _ want _ to be told to disinfect the tv remote every other Wednesday, or to attack the small groove between the chrome of the faucet and the rest of the sink with an over glorified toothbrush each Saturday morning. That is prime sleeping-in time, thank you very much. And angel _ forbid _ he make himself some Kraft Dinner at two in the morning and forget to wash the dishes before going to bed like a responsible adult!

One nice thing he can say about living with Edge is that he isn’t passive aggressive about things that bug him. That can easily get annoying. No, instead, he is just aggressively vocal about his opinions. Like the time Stretch decided to make him a nice, hot beverage. He had been on the couch when the guy came storming in from work. Obviously, it had been a bad day; behaviour aside, there were ragged tears in his scrubs. So, Stretch had decided to do the decent thing and offer Edge some tea. He has seen the one cupboard in the kitchen, filled to the brim with different flavours. In theory, anyone who owns that much tea is sure to appreciate someone making some for him when he is feeling down.

Yeah, that theory was proved wrong the second he stepped back into the living room. Apparently, stirring iced tea powder into a cup of water that was heated in the microwave is "a lazy abomination and most certainly _ not _ tea". Stretch would beg to differ — iced tea straight up has tea in the name, and the microwave got it just as hot as the kettle would have — but that really wasn't the hill he wants to die on. And now that he knows about Edge's LV, he doesn't want to risk his life over differing opinions over hot beverages.

Oh yeah, that's also a thing Stretch has learned since moving in. Edge has LV. A lot. Too much, in his opinion. 

As for why he didn't bother Checking him _ before _ agreeing to become roommates… well, Stretch can only think of so much when he has cute little kitty eyes begging him to say yes. In fact, he didn't think about it until after he had already been there for about a week. For some reason, it completely escaped his mind until one morning when he was making himself coffee. Okay, it wasn't really morning; he missed the official cutoff by about seven minutes, but it was the weekend. Edge was also in the kitchen, chopping up tomatoes for a salad. To this day, Stretch considers himself lucky that he didn't have to dodge the knife when Edge felt the prickle of magic. 

13 LV. 

3543 EXP. 

It should have been obvious. All the signs were there. The sharp, pointed teeth. The quick temper. The blood red, burning eye lights. All rumoured to be signs that a monster has fallen to the evil that is LV. 

Stretch _ wants _ to be disgusted and terrified. If he has even the slightest bit of self-preservation, he should be. Edge has _ killed _ people, for fuck’s sake! That much LV isn’t something that one can simply gain all willy-nilly. That requires some grade A mass murderings. Stretch needs to wake up with his roomie holding a weapon above him just as much as he needs a hole in the head. And, to make things clear, just in case the hypothetical manner of homicide is stabbing through his skull, he doesn’t need either of those things in the slightest!

Absolutely no one can have that much LV and not be a complete demon.

<strike>Then again, the Doctor had absolutely no LV, yet he was nothing _ but _ a demon. Sure, he was good at pretending he was an upstanding monster, but both him and Stretch knew that was a blatant illusion.</strike>

But then, Edge does these _ things_. These things that just make it too hard to hate him completely. He honestly can’t stand it. Like now, as Stretch watches Edge kneeling on the carpet to scritch Doomfanger behind the ears, cooing to the kitten since he doesn’t realise he is being watched.

Okay, fine; those bone tight leather pants he is currently wearing don’t hurt either. Hubba hubba.

Leaning against the door frame, Stretch calls out, “what’s going on tonight?”

Immediately, he straightens up. “Nothing!” Edge exclaims as Doomfanger tilts his head up plaintively. Then again, he has looked plaintive since the first moment the big, mean cone of shame was placed around his neck.

And all right, fine. Edge may still be a mega killer, but the guy just reacted like a teen whose mom caught him watching naughty videos online. That shit is hilarious.

Moving closer, Stretch is able to notice how the spice of his magic seems stronger than normal. In a totally good and embarrassingly mouthwatering kind of way. Not to say that Edge usually _ reeks _ or anything. Quite the opposite, actually. It’s just… well… 

Stretch finds the constant, lingering smell of antiseptics to be… _disconcerting_. 

This, however, is quite the opposite. _ Very _ enticing. Even the fishiness of Doomfanger’s treats can’t overpower it as Edge dangles a few midair in order to coax him closer.

"then what's with the fancy pants, if nothing's going on?" Not that Stretch is complaining. No siree. 

With Doomfanger nice and close, Edge starts checking on the progress of his healing. For the first two weeks or so, it is supposedly a ritual to be repeated each morning and evening, making sure the wound on his leg wasn’t getting infected. Stretch takes Edge’s word for it; it is literally his job to know. As a reward for sitting through it without nipping too much at Edge's phalanges, the kitty gets another treat. Only when that is done does his roommate answer.

"My… _ friend_," he says, as though searching for the word, "is insistent we go out tonight. She says it's been too long since we’ve gone out drinking or anything, just the two of us."

A stab of disappointment runs through Stretch’s soul, deep and burning. It doesn’t take much to read behind the lines of those few sentences. His ‘friend’. ‘Just the two of us’. The nice clothing. Hell, even the secrecy. It is so obvious, damn it.

Edge is going out with his girlfriend. 

Of course he has a girlfriend. Regardless of his LV, Edge is a very attractive monster. He has a steady job, where he works to help animals. As irritating as his obsessive cleanliness is to live with, it probably counts as another positive. All in all, he seems like a pretty great catch.

Averting his eyes — it is only right to stop ogling at someone who is in a committed relationship, after all — Stretch says, “well, have fun. with her. i’ll just be here with the doom-meister.” Alone. On a Friday night, the best time to go out and have some fun and maybe mess around with someone he is attracted to. Instead, it is just going to be him trying to shove down any feelings he may have for the other. Joy of all joys. Hopefully, he will be successful. Realistically speaking, though, it probably isn’t going to happen any time soon.

“I’ll do my best,” Edge replies with a smirk, unintentionally rubbing salt and hydrochloric acid into a newly developed wound. “Will you be okay to make your own supper tonight?”

Great. Now he is showing concern for him, like Stretch is one of the helpless little animals he helps at the clinic. With only the slightest trace of bitterness, he says, “yeah, i’ll manage. go on and enjoy yourself. carpe that diem and all that jazz.”

“I can trust that Dyne will make sure of that.” Edge stands up, brushing the cat fur off his tight pants. Clearly, he has a special gift, because unlike when Stretch tries and only manages to shift the position of each strand by a millimetre, he successfully removes all of it in just a few swipes of his hands. That, or leather is truly more magical of a fabric than he had realised, and not just because of the effect it has on Edge’s pelvis. Which he isn’t supposed to be looking at. Shit. “Don’t forget that it’s your turn to take out the recycling.”

“got it.”

Satisfied, Edge nods and leaves. Seriously; no goodbye or anything, only him putting on a pair of boots and grabbing his keys before he is out the door.

“well, doomy, i guess it’s just you and me. let’s get you some chicken supreme and i can figure out what i’m having.” Obediently, Doomfanger follows behind, only hitting his cone on the edge of the doorway once. Good for him. Only a few days ago, he would have rehit it a few more times before figuring it out or giving up to cry until someone helped him out. Stupid little fluffball. 

Then again, all it would take was a few cries for Stretch to come shortcutting over, so who is the real fool here?

Both of them. Both of them are fools; Stretch for being so quickly wrapped around Doomfanger’s little paw and Doomfanger for repetitively getting stuck behind the couch because he doesn’t realise how much space the cone of shame takes up when he tries to go fly hunting.

As always, the kitchen is spotless. There are high budget cooking shows who would be envious of the layout of Edge’s kitchen. Everything gleams, giving off an air of newness, and is organised according to ease, efficiency and safety. Hanging on the wall under some cupboards, for example, knives are painstakingly arranged by size and by type; the only reason he knows that second part is because Edge gave him the full walk-through the day after he moved in. Stretch easily reaches up to the second shelf from the top, where Edge had made a specific spot for Doomfanger’s food.

The sound of that specific cupboard opening is all it takes for Doomfanger to start doing figure eights around his legs, meowing impatiently. “yeah, gimme a minute,” Stretch laughs as he is guided towards the food dish. “i don’t think you’d be very happy with me if i just left the can unopened.” With an indignant nudge to his left ankle, Doomfanger makes it clear that it is clearly the end of the world that he isn’t eating at this exact second. Such a bossy little thing, he is. 

Clearly, Doomy takes after his other dad in more ways than just the sharp teeth.

Belly full, the kitten wanders over to the table, where a sunbeam brightly shines. Stretch gets it: napping comfortably after a filling meal is always a good plan.

Shoving the can’s remains into the fridge, Stretch considers his options for his own supper, something he has already gotten used to not having to do. This whole getting free supper, no effort needed thing is a serious gift. 

Thank you, Edge.

That was certainly a pleasant surprise, the day that Edge had nearly banged through his bedroom door. Instinctively, he almost yelled at him to knock it off; he was trying to get some work done so he can contribute to paying the rent, thanks. However, he had just clocked out for the day, which meant he had no valid excuse to complain about the intense knocking other than the fact that it was annoying and he just wanted to fuck around on the internet for a bit, maybe take a quick nap. 

“what?” Stretch had snapped, throwing the door open.

Unfazed by his obvious irritation, Edge asked, “Do you have any dietary restrictions?”

“No…” he said hesitantly, curious to find out the context was. And the urgency, for that matter.

Satisfied with his answer, Edge nods. “Good. Supper will be ready in an hour, then.”

He was gone before Stretch could even respond with a puzzled “okay?” The guy really likes his abrupt exits, it seems.

As for why Edge decided to take over cooking supper, that is all he knows; no other explanation was given. Since then, every day at precisely six o’clock, he gets two firm raps on his door, announcing that food is ready. After the third day in a row, he decided not to question it. Don’t look a gyftrot in the mouth and all.

Maybe Edge just hates making food for only one person. That is completely understandable. After all, most recipes Stretch has discovered over the years are meant for either two or four people. This allows him to follow the recipe (because seriously, how are you supposed to use only half an egg? It just doesn’t work) without living on the leftovers for the next week and a half.

More likely, though, is that he is annoyed with the results of Stretch’s own cooking. Also valid; Blue used to say he could set water on fire, which was proven to be correct on one, debatably two occasions. 

Again, Stretch doesn’t care much about the reason. As long as Edge doesn’t try to up his LV some more by poisoning him, it’s all good. It just means that, to make things fair, he does the dishes for supper each night. He would rather do that than cook any day, though, so it works out.

Tonight, though… Stretch scowls at the fridge. The only leftovers in existence are the cat’s food, and he isn’t _ that _ desperate. He could always order in. That counts as managing on his own, right? It would be better than anything he could make, in any case. 

Mind made up, he sits down and orders some pizza. And, what the hell, might as well tack on some dessert and break out the honey. All the better to wallow around in the chaos that is his feelings for his new roomie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time for updates, to talk or to find out some of my random, mostly sleep-deprived thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected guest arrives at Edge and Stretch's house.

Lighter in hand, Stretch wanders from his bedroom to the front door. The song of the nicotine is luring him in, but the damp and drizzly weather is telling him it would be better to put on some actual shoes before going outside to smoke.

Well, at least that’s the plan. He kind of gets thrown off by Doomfanger’s loud, squeaky mews and the unfamiliar “the fuck?” that follows.

Ignoring the mystery voice that most certainly does not belong to Edge, Stretch has no idea why Doomy would be so vocal right now. It isn’t anywhere near meal time, so it isn’t him complaining to be fed. Or, at least, it shouldn’t be. He doesn’t sound like he is in pain either. If anything, it is a happy sound, almost like when Edge had finally removed the nom shield, as Stretch had taken to calling the cone of shame. He is so glad he got the whole thing on camera.

Curiosity quickly gets the better of him as mystery voice pipes up again. "what kinda overgrown rat is this?"

_ Rude_. Stretch shuffles over to the kitchen a little faster, thoughts about defending Doomfanger's honour swirling about his mind. No one gets to talk about his fur son like that!

Crouching on the dark area rug Edge bought so Doomfanger can relax more comfortably at his favourite place in the kitchen, the kitten wiggles his bum, ready to pounce. The target of his playful energy isn’t the legs of the kitchen table for once — thank fuck — but rather the exposed tibia of the skeleton facing up against him. A skeleton who is most certainly not Edge, despite the similarly dark clothes, shark-like teeth and red eye lights.

This time, he doesn’t hesitate when he sees the sharp features; Stretch Checks the intruder.

> * RED
> 
> * LV 7
> 
> * HP 6/6
> 
> * ATK 1 DEF 1
> 
> * Watch out.

Before Stretch can process what that means, there is a sharp tug on his soul. The familiar pressure of gravity magic pushes him back. Hard. 

“well, looky here,” Red says, grinning fiercely. “seems like the boss adopted more than one stray.”

Bristling at the comment, Stretch struggles to readjust his own gravity. It is like trying to push through waist-high, packed down snow in the middle of a blizzard with wind blowing against him; difficult, uncomfortable, heavy. But, with enough effort and sheer stubbornness, still doable. Slowly, he manages to step in front of Doomfanger, who is still chirping, oblivious to the tension and magic in the air.

Using more than his fair share of swagger, Red looks him up and down. Not a true Check, but it might as well be. He chuckles lowly. “huh. didn’t know my bro had a boy toy.” Now, Stretch can feel the prickly wash of magic assessing him. “awful fragile, ain’tcha?”

Partially from anger, partially from embarrassment, Stretch can feel his cheeks burning bright. “fuck you, buddy.” 

Besides, doesn’t Edge have a girlfriend? This other guy, if he really is Edge’s brother like he says he is, should know that. Then again, it could be an open relationship, for all he knows.

“eh, thanks for the offer, but no thanks. not really my type.” Another deep, piercing glance is sent Stretch’s way. Red pieces him apart like he is lying on a dissection table, each part removed to be examined with even more scrutiny under a microscope. It is an awful feeling. With a satisfied hum, he continues, “well, maybe you do have some fight in ya. edge always did like ‘em feisty.”

Nope. Didn’t need to know that. There are a lot of mental images that little tidbit bring to mind, all of which he tries to shove from the foreground of his thoughts.

“that’s, uh, good to know? except i’m not in a relationship with edge. or anyone.”

“you aren’t?”

Stretch backs up. Red looks ready to pounce, like Doomfanger whenever he spots the toy mouse on a string move. Call him crazy, but Stretch doesn’t feel up to being the mouse. “hell nah. i just split rent with the dude.”

And there is that deep, calculating look again. Dully, Red says, “uh huh.” Stretch is ready to protest, maybe find some evidence, when the other’s demeanour changes completely. Although, even when a wide grin makes its way onto his face, he still manages to be entirely threatening. It’s probably the teeth. Red holds out his hand. “in that case, i guess we can move past the whole ‘you hurt my baby bro, i slowly rip you limb from limb and make you regret the day you were born’ spiel then, huh?”

“... yeah.” Right before he accepts the offered handshake, Stretch pulls back. Thankfully, Doomfanger is still underfoot, which means he has an excuse. Sorry, but how can he shake the evil skeleton’s hand if his cat clearly needs to be held? No can do.

Tsking, Red removes a joy buzzer from his hand, placing it in his pocket, and holy heck, man, his instincts are actually doing him a favour for once. “shame.” Whether he is talking about missing on the chance to give him a real _ shock _ or the shovel talk thing, it is unclear. Possibly both, but Stretch doesn’t really feel up to asking. “i’d introduce myself, but it seems like you’re a rude fucker who just checks people all willy nilly before sayin’ so much as a simple hello.”

Stretch holds Doomfanger closer to his chest. “you checked me too,” he says defensively.

This earns him a brash laugh and a slap on the back, just a smidgeon short of being enough to bruise the bone. “yeah, but i’ve been a rude fucker since the day i was born, sunshine. now, c’mon.” 

With the confidence of someone who owns the place, Red walks over to open the fridge. He digs in the door for a few seconds and pulls out… mustard? Is this why there is so much mustard in the fridge? Stretch grimaces; talk about gross. 

Opening the lid, Red takes a deep whiff. “yeah, that’s the stuff.” He must realise that Stretch hasn’t budged an inch, because he rolls his eye lights. “Hurry up and get something t’ drink already. My prissy pants of a bro may be the kinda person who goes down each and every aisle just to make sure he ain’t missing nothing, but you’re wastin’ daylight.” As he leaves, he mutters under his breath, “those long legs are wasted on ‘im if he doesn’t have the decency to hurry his ass up.”

Stretch’s lighter weighs heavily in the pocket of his hoodie. Making a hasty escape outside to follow through with his original plan sounds tempting. Very tempting.

How long is it going to be until his roommate gets back from the grocery store? Sure, Edge returning would mean that he would be in the presence of two Fell monsters, but there is a difference. Edge, he feels like a safer choice. His LV may be higher than Red’s, but at least he seems like a murderer with standards. Based on the fact that Stretch isn’t a pile of dust, the guy must have a reason to kill someone. Not that there is any good reason, but hey, it is better than nothing, he guesses. Red, though… he’s definitely the kind of killer to be scared of. The guy is creepy as fuck.

Which is why he grabs himself a bottle of honey, takes a large guzzle of it and follows Red to the living room. Better not to leave a stranger alone in his house, even if he claims to be Edge’s older brother.

* * *

“stars above, dude! how was he ever so small?”

Red snorts, holding the picture of a toddler-sized Edge throwing a temper tantrum in a set of too small pyjamas a bit higher. “beats me. then again, the kid grew another inch ‘n a half by the end of the week. had to burn those teddy pjs before they fell apart completely.”

Neither Stretch or Red notices when the front door opens. Stretch tilts his head back, downing some more honey. While he wipes at the stickiness at the corner of his mouth, he says, “yeah, i get it. it reminds me of when my bro was younger, he had this blankie, right? just couldn’t go anywhere without it, but he hated it to get dirty. in the end, i gave up and put it in the bath with blue.”

“nice. wait ‘til you see this next one. pure fuckin’ gold,” Red declares, pulling it out of his inventory, “let me tell ya.”

Unfortunately, Stretch doesn’t get to find out why the next one is so special. With ninja fast reflexes, the photo is tugged out of Red’s hands.

“Red!” Edge squawks in outrage. His face flushes brightly when he takes a look at whatever pic Red busted out, and okay, the blushing isn’t really helping out with the whole ‘trying not to be attracted to him’ thing. Not in the slightest. 

Edge’s growl ruins the moment. He ducks out of the way, trying to get out of the cross-hairs as Edge leans in closer to Red. “Brother,” he says menacingly.

Completely undisturbed, Red yawns. “yeah?”

“I disown you.”

Red scoffs, rolling his eye lights. “as if. now, what’s for supper? honeycakes over here is gettin’ hungry.”

He raises an inquisitive brow bone. “Is that so?”

“yep,” Red replies easily, popping the ‘p’. “look at ‘im. he’s all skin and bones.”

Making a noise of disgust, Edge picks up the grocery bags and heads to the kitchen.

“do you want some help?”

Red places a restraining arm in front of him. “nah, don’t bother. let him have his fun being all domestic and shit. besides,” he adds, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “i ain’t done showin’ you his baby pics. there’s a lot more where that one came from.”

* * *

Grabbing another hunk of garlic bread, Stretch suppresses a satisfied moan. Seriously, Edge’s food alone is enough to make the whole roommate thing work out in Stretch’s eyes. _ Way _ better than anything he can do when left to his own devices, that’s for sure. Granted, he has burned ramen in the microwave, but just because he can’t cook edible-tasting food doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate quality when he puts it in his mouth.

Red belches, loud and well sustained. “good as always, boss. how’s the new job been treating ya? any fun stories?”

Before answering, Edge pointedly wipes his mouth with his napkin. “It depends. Are we going by your definition of fun or a normal person’s?”

Red flips his brother the bird and turns to face Stretch. “i’m tellin’ ya, you commit some arson for a prank, tell a dead baby joke or two, and suddenly you’re the one with a ‘sick and twisted sense of humour’.” When Stretch doesn’t respond — because how exactly is he supposed to respond to the knowledge that the person he is talking to has set property on fire for shits and giggles? — Red scornfully shoves a heaping bite of lasagne in his mouth. “fine. be that way. skip the interesting shit and tell me more about how you gave a little doggy a bandaid for his boo-boos.” 

Edge sighs. “Would it make you happy to hear that a two hundred pound dog came in the other day and I had to hold him down so Doctor Alphys could figure out the cause of his limp?” 

“eh,” he says with a shrug. 

“but did the dog get a bandaid?”

Another sigh. “Yes, technically speaking.”

Reaching across the table, Red holds out his fist. “good catch, honeycakes.”

He completes the fist bump. “anytime. hey, if you don’t mind me asking, what do you do?”

The table falls silent, but it is clear to Stretch that there is a new conversation going on that he isn’t a part of. The brothers’ eyes go back and forth between each other and Stretch, like they are watching a tennis match. 

Slowly, Edge answers, “You probably don’t want to know.” And, okay, looking at Red, who is currently chuckling darkly… yeah. Stretch may be nosy, but he’ll give that one up. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him, right? 

Hopefully.

With a sharp scrape, Red pushes back his chair. “welp. i’mma head out and get some drinks. either of you wanna come? my treat.”

“You’re actually offering to pay?”

“nah,” he says unapologetically. “i’ve got a tab for a reason. you comin’?”

“sure.” Who is he to turn down a free drink? 

“nice. boss?”

“No, thank you. Unlike you, brother, I have to be up first thing in the morning.”

“well, it looks like it’s just you ‘n me, honeycakes.” He moves behind Stretch’s chair and places his hands on his shoulders. “this is gonna be _fun_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank Deku_Lily for the inspiration of calling the cone of shame a "nom shield". I will never be able to think of Elizabethan collars in the same way ever again.
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edge deals with an unpleasant surprise after Stretch returns from drinking with Red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for potential warnings.

With his brother and his roommate gone raising havoc at a bar, Edge starts working on damage control. And by damage control, of course, he means cleaning up after Red and Stretch. 

From the moment he spotted those two together, he knew trouble was imminent. Granted, Red and trouble go hand in hand at the best of times, but the combination of the two seems particularly ominous.

Grimacing, Edge plucks an empty bottle of mustard up from the living room floor. Ugh. In the years since he has moved out from the impending dumpster fire Red calls a home, Edge can certainly say that this was _ not _ something he missed. His scowl grows larger when he notices a sticky bottle sitting far too close to Doom’s cat tower. The last thing Edge needs is for the kitten to become ill from ingesting honey. As he throws the two condiments into the garbage, he adds another item to the ever growing list of personal grievances he has against his roommate.

Most of the items on the list are relatively minor, albeit still irritating. For instance, Stretch will wander around at any hour of the day. That particular habit makes Edge twitchy; after living alone for so long, it is hard to adjust to hearing someone roaming around his house in the middle of the night. Then in the afternoon. Then once at the brink of dawn, almost as if to personally spite him for becoming accustomed to hearing the wandering at certain time frames.

To add to that particular irritant, Stretch also passes the fuck out anywhere he wants. It isn’t odd for Edge to return home from work and find his roommate napping in relatively odd locations, Doomfanger often close by. In some ways, it is nearly impressive, the various ways in which the lanky skeleton can fall asleep.

It makes Edge wonder, sometimes. Does Stretch even have a job? He has no idea; all he knows and cares about is that he pays the rent on time.

What irks Edge the most, though, is how messy Stretch is. At times, it feels as though he leaves an eternal trail of stickiness behind him, a consequence of all the honey he consumes. One time, Edge accidentally saw inside his room… ever since, he has done well to avoid it.

At least he has the decency to spare the house by doing all of his smoking outside without needing to be asked. In retrospect, Edge supposes he should have asked about such things in advance. He may not have any issues, per se — goodness knows his brother has smoked all kinds of shit over the years — but it still would have been good to know in case he had to lay down any rules. 

Overall, though, Stretch is pretty good with Doomfanger, when he isn’t accidentally leaving out food that could make him violently ill. 

Speaking of, out of the corner of his vision, Edge spots a wiggling butt. It is only a matter of seconds before Doom launches beside him on the couch. Edge gives in to his affectionate headbutts, setting down the cloth he had been using to wipe down the coffee table to give pets. While he is at it, he carefully takes the kitten into his lap, wanting to examine his healing process.

Fine. No one else is here. He can call it cuddling if he wants to.

In the few weeks that he and Stretch have had him, Doomfanger (which is still such an awful name; there is a reason Edge always shortens it) has already grown so much. His fur is thicker and shinier, no longer giving him the straggly appearance of a stray. Softer too, Edge notes as Doom starts purring. To someone not in the know, the patch of fur that had been shaved away would be practically imperceptible. Underneath, the scar healed better than he would have expected when Stretch brought him in to the clinic.

In the front hall, there is the crackling pop of a shortcut followed by a body-sized thump. Concerning, to say the least. 

With a sigh, Edge plucks Doomfanger up from his lap, mentally preparing himself for whatever suffering his brother is currently inflicting upon him. Tiny claws extend as he mewls in protest, attempting to catch onto Edge’s clothes. Stubborn little thing. He knew there was a reason he fell in love with him from the start.

He soon speeds up when he hears Red drunkenly singsong, “oh baby bro~ got a present for you~”

Edge sighs, feeling a headache coming on. Red, who smells like he just bathed in a vat of Grillby’s strongest spirits, is dragging a limp, unconscious Stretch behind him.

“Brother, I thought it would go without saying that if I select someone to be my roommate, I don’t particularly desire to hide their dust with you.”

Even when heavily intoxicated, Red is a master of giving him dry glares. “cute. now just take the tall one so i can go and enjoy my hangover in peace, a’ight?”

That is the only warning Edge gets before Red drops his hold on Stretch completely. Cursing, Edge catches him with blue magic in the nick of time. The last thing Edge needs right now is an emergency trip to a healer because he let his roommate's skull crack face first on their floor. Giving him matching facial scars does not seem like a good bonding opportunity.

"well," Red says with a smirk and a cocky sway to his step, "goodnight. have fun with your little honeycakes, boss."

“red, don’t you fucking dare —” 

But, of course, his brother shortcuts away before Edge can properly cuss him out. 

Sighing, Edge walks over to pick Stretch up properly; he can’t very well leave him passed out in the middle of the hallway. Stretch doesn’t stir. Slowly, so that he doesn’t jostle him, Edge journeys over to Stretch’s room, dodging as Doomfanger wanders underfoot.

When he pushes the door to Stretch’s bedroom open with his foot, Edge cannot help but sneer at… is that a trash tornado? Stars, this place is worse than he thought! If one of those things show up in a common area… 

A pained whimper distracts Edge from his disgust.

In his arms, Stretch has tensed up, hands beginning to clutch at the soft cotton of his button up shirt. From what Edge can tell, he is still asleep, mumbling incomprehensibly. With a sigh, Edge works on finding a clear path from Stretch’s doorway to his bed; his behaviour is likely just some discomfort from tonight’s drinking. He _ was _ with Red, after all. Far stronger monsters have made themselves sick trying to keep up with his gremlin of a brother.

Deciding to grab a garbage bin, a glass of water and some pain meds for Stretch, Edge continues on his mission to get the other to bed.

That is, he does until Stretch shifts in his arms once more. This time, the words are uncomfortably clear, bringing Edge to a halt.

“_please_,” he begs desperately, nearly shaking. “don’t.”

Slowly, Edge says, “Stretch? What is it?”

Stretch makes no sign of hearing him — because of course he doesn’t, he is still dead to the outside world. He lets out another whimper which tugs at Edge’s soul. “stop it. ‘t _ hurts_.”

“What hurts?” Edge asks, knowing that he won’t get an answer. He sits down on top of Stretch’s bed, trying to loosen his hold on the off-chance that it will help.

“i’ll be good,” Stretch says, just as much a plea as it is a promise.

Edge’s marrow runs cold, even as his LV rages hot at the implications.

This… this isn’t just any nightmare. It just isn’t. Whatever Stretch is seeing in his dreams is more than an awful product of imagination; the terror on his face is too real. It reminds Edge too much of when he was younger, how he would always struggle to sleep after he had… 

He takes a deep breath of the dustless air. Dwelling on his past isn’t going to help his roommate right now.

Softly, like he would to one of the frightened animals at work, he murmurs, “Stretch, you’re safe. It’s going to be okay.”

His shivering doesn’t let up. Carefully, Edge strokes his shoulder, trying to make the touch as soothing as possible while still holding him.

Burrowing his face closer to Edge’s shirt, Stretch repeats, “it hurts.”

“It’s going to be okay.”

* * *

Edge doesn’t know how long he sits there, holding his roommate. Too long, perhaps. Not as long as it feels, he suspects. All he knows is that if he was waiting for things to improve so he can leave, he would have made no progress whatsoever.

Part of the problem, of course, is that Edge can’t find it within himself to leave, neither physically or emotionally. Even if Stretch wasn’t clinging to him in his sleep (and what does that say, that his roommate is somehow finding comfort and protection through him in his unconscious state?), each time Edge is ready to detach himself, another one of those sad, pitiful sounds escapes him.

Already, he tried waking Stretch up. It would have been potentially awkward for the both of them, but anything is better than being forced to sit there as the other cries in his sleep. However, it didn’t work. All his shaking and gentle prodding managed was to get Stretch’s breathing to pick up, just a touch below hyperventilating, and a gasped out, “go ‘way!”

Needless to say, he couldn’t bring himself to try again.

Resigned to his fate of a sleepless night of trying to help his roommate through his nightmares, Edge scooches back on the bed to lean against the wall. He might as well make himself comfortable. Humming quietly, he shifts Stretch’s weight in his arms. Ah, much better; his shoulders were starting to get stiff. Doctor Alphys would be displeased if he was both overtired and in pain tomorrow, which would result in Dyne finding out and getting pissed at him for not taking his health seriously. Again.

Resting his eyes, he increases the volume of his humming as Stretch stirs uneasily. A slowed-down melody of something he has heard countless times on the radio, it certainly is no lullaby. Not that he really knows any for comparison; his brother’s version of crooning a berceuse was him harshly whispering to ‘go the fuck ta sleep ‘fore i make ya’. 

To be frank, Edge highly doubts that method will do any good here. Or for anyone. Really, it is a miracle that Red ever got him to go to bed as a child.

When he opens his eyes once more, it is because of a certain furry someone who wanders into the bedroom meowing, only to lie down on top of Edge’s feet.

“I’m glad you’re making yourself at home,” Edge says quietly, a small smile growing on his face as Doomfanger stretches out and rolls onto his back.

Hmmmmm… 

“Doom,” he beckons, tapping the bed. What he would give for some cat treats at the moment. Thankfully, Doomfanger decides to cooperate and hops up. The bed is much warmer, after all, with lots of blankets to knead and skeletons to demand attention from. Edge obliges, scratching under the kitten’s chin. “That’s a good boy.”

Stretch’s grasp on his shirt finally lessens. This is his chance.

Acting slowly, Edge sets Stretch on his bed, tucking him in the mess of blankets while thanking the universe that whatever nightmare he was reliving seems to have calmed. Almost immediately, Doomfanger approaches Stretch, curling up close to him.

_ Yes_, Edge decides as Stretch latches on to Doomfanger like a living, purring teddy bear, _ this is an acceptable alternative_. If he is lucky, he will still be able to scratch out a few hours of sleep and still have time for his morning run.

As he gets ready for bed, the neat little box he had shoved all those thoughts he needed to ignore until starts to give in at the seams, weakening under pressure.

Stretch is a Tale monster. 

Tale monsters are supposed to be good and soft and pure, a result not only of their untarnished souls but also of generally superior upbringings than those with the misfortune of being born to the wrong side of a societal divide. Lives which are filled with love, not LOVE.

A Tale monster isn’t supposed to be haunted by dreams that leave him terrified, pleading and begging because of pain and who knows what else.

Part of Edge longs to pry, to figure out who is the root of the problem and fix it. Permanently. It would be easy enough to do; Edge has always been good at puzzles and his brother has his ways of procuring information from unlikely sources. And —

Edge squashes that train of thought before it can go too far. This desire, it is just his LV talking. It still must be roiled up from earlier, making any excuse to cause harm seem permissible. There is no need to get all up in his roommate’s personal life, especially without asking.

Like it or not, the best thing to try and do is forget that tonight ever happened.

Easier said than done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:
> 
> Edge witnesses Stretch having a nightmare. In his sleep, Stretch says some concerning but vague things.
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stretch deals with the aftermath of his night out with Red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for potential warnings.

The millisecond his alarm starts blaring, Stretch can confidently say that somebody should call Guinness World Records because, not only does he have unprecedented regrets, but his headache is off the charts.

Eyes closed in an attempt to reduce the amount of pain, Stretch flails around until he manages to silence his phone. Whether he actually turned the alarm off or instead hit snooze, dooming him to a repeat of this particular torment in a few minutes, well… only time will tell.

With that (hopefully) taken care of, he turns back over, hiding in the warmth and coziness that is his tangled bedding. And fur? There is something distinctly furry by his left scapula, and what the heck?

Oh, right. He has a cat. Has for just over a month now. 

Early morning bewilderment out of way, there is nothing else for him to worry about. It’s technically his day off, so nothing is stopping him from sleeping in as much as he wants.

Well, nothing other than Doomfanger batting at his head, apparently.

Mumbling a garbled combination of vowels and consonants that could generously be interpreted as “the fuck?”, Stretch feels around his forehead, trying to figure out what has earned Doomfanger’s attention. He brushes the mystery item a bit too hard, causing it to flutter onto his arm.

Curiosity soon overpowers his desire to go back to sleep. Eyes opened, a highlighter yellow sticky note burns its way into his vision. Doomfanger bats at it once more before hopping onto the short bookshelf Stretch calls his nightstand. There is no clattering of various objects falling to the floor and shattering, so he figures it’s all good. Stretch flips the note over.

_ Pro tip: _ _ NEVER _ _ go drinking with Red. _

_ P.S. Drink the water and take the pills. _

“yeah, coulda used that advice last night.” He crumples the sticky note up, tossing it somewhere into the abyss of his room. Then, the postscript clicks and he quickly sits up, snatching the little cup of meds away before Doomfanger sticks his nose into it. That would be bad.

Zoning out, he almost falls back asleep with the pills in hand. Almost. Sadly, the pounding of his skull is still too strong. Taking the medicine would most likely help with that.

<strike> He hopes. </strike>

Even in the dark of his room, he can make out the details of the pills. It’s just the typical over the counter pain killer. Stretch knows for a fact that Blue keeps a bottle of this particular kind in his inventory at all times. There are minimal side effects, especially when taken at a low dosage. Certainly nothing worse than dealing with his hangover. It’s fine.

It’s fine.

<strike> It’s not fine. </strike>

Okay. So _ clearly_, he needs to psych himself up to take the damn pills. Nothing new here. Maybe some good old positive reinforcement can help. Time to Skinner it up. 

First off, he needs to figure out what will actually work as a reinforcing stimulus. <strike> And preferably, stop using such clinical language. That isn’t helping. </strike> Dessert or some other treat would usually be a solid go-to, but the queasiness says that is currently a no-go. Sure, he could save it for later, but that seems far less effective. What about a nice shower? He definitely needs it; his memories from last night may not be the strongest, but the smell of sweat and goodness knows what else sure is. But, hey, Edge isn’t home. He shouldn’t be for a while. Taking a long, relaxing shower can count as a reward. If he takes the pill, he can use up all the warm water he wants. Boo yeah.

Now he just needs to get the worst part over with.

“wanna give me a countdown doomy?” Doomy, unfortunately, doesn’t decide to help him out there. A real shame. He should really try to teach him that trick. Maybe Edge can help him out on that mission. Roommate bonding activity: training your fur baby together! Sounds like a real time and a half right there.

Okay, now Stretch is just procrastinating.

Reluctantly, he closes his eyes and downs the pills, following with the entire glass of water. Even though he knows that they should be incorporating into his magic, he _ swears _ he can still feel the clunky texture stuck in his throat, dry like chalk. Blergh.

Before he can enjoy that shower, he definitely needs something else to wash that taste out of his mouth.

Keeping all the lights off, Stretch slowly slumps his way to the kitchen. There, he pours himself a cup of coffee using the dregs of the pot, then adds enough sugar for it to turn into a dark brown sludge. Perfect.

“no regrets,” he says, unsuccessful at convincing himself as he downs the entire thing in one go. He shivers at the flavour; yeah, it worked at getting rid of the aftertaste from the pill, but at what cost? That coffee has definitely been sitting for too long and now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t remember finishing off yesterday’s batch. Oh well. Caffeine is caffeine, right?

Another check marked off on his minimal to-do list for the day, Stretch can now officially have a shower. Closing the bathroom door thoroughly behind him — because last time Doomfanger sneaked in to see what he was doing, he fell in the toilet and gave the most betrayed of glares — an enormous yawn escapes him. Followed by a second, albeit slightly smaller one.

That’s another mystery he should probably get to solving. There is no question as to the fact of him being tired, but the level of exhaustion is what is weirding him out. It’s strange. The tiredness he feels is far beyond what his drinking last night should have warranted. It feels like those nights when he has gotten by on maybe two, two and a half hours of sleep, and he _ really _ doesn’t do well with that shit. All-nighters are the _ worst_.

What happened last night?

* * *

Edge’s return a few hours later only escalates the weirdness that is Stretch’s life at the moment.

Post shower, Stretch sits on the couch, Doomfanger purring away on his lap. Originally, he had been perched on the back of the couch to stare out the window, but Stretch wasn’t petting him, so he moved. About an inch a minute, to be precise. Until, of course, Doomy gave up on subtlety and pounced off of Stretch’s shoulder. A plate with a half-eaten sandwich sits on the floor, a testament to when he had tried to eat something for lunch/breakfast.

“hey,” he calls out as Edge painstakingly sets his shoes on the rack. Stretch can practically hear him straightening the pair until they are completely parallel. “how was work?”

“Good.” His answer is curt, but that isn’t too bizarre. Edge isn’t exactly the most chatty of Cathys, so to say.

“cool.” Waiting until he reaches the living room, Stretch continues, “so, about last night…”

Edge promptly turns on his heels and leaves.

Well, then.

* * *

For the next two days, Edge is just as avoidant. Somehow, when he isn’t at work, he manages to be everywhere in the house whilst never remaining in the same room as Stretch for more than five seconds. This even continues into supper, with Edge oh so conveniently forgetting to inform him about the meal being ready until he has already eaten himself. Then, he watches Stretch sit down at the table before leaving, citing some obviously fake excuse.

Each time, it brings that awful curiosity to the forefront of Stretch’s mind. Is Edge just being prickly for unrelated reasons, or did Stretch do anything that night?

Whatever happened, it couldn’t have been _ too _ awful. Edge hasn’t kicked him out of the house, and he was even kind enough to leave him meds for the hangover. Plus, someone had certainly helped him to bed; he doesn’t remember being awake enough — or at all. Hell, he doesn’t even remember leaving the bar. Somehow, he doubts Red would’ve tucked him in. 

Then again, all that could just be because Edge is a good person.

Finally, the division between them comes to an end when Stretch wanders into the kitchen while Edge is in the middle of cooking supper.

He didn’t intend to. He just popped in to grab a glass of water. In respect of Edge’s… whatever his issue is, Stretch hurries himself. 

That is, he does until Edge calls over his shoulder, “Could you set the table?”

Stretch blinks. “yeah. uh, sure. just the two of us?”

“Well, I’m certainly not allowing Doom to eat that the table. I would rather not encourage such bad habits.”

“got it.”

Neither of them says anything else. Yet, it still feels like progress. Besides, initiating small talk right now would be a little too one-to-one hundred. As far as Stretch is concerned, they need to work their way back up to being cool.

With everything set, Stretch sits down at his unofficial seat at the table. There is nothing left to do but wait. And watch. 

After a quick pause to double-check how the dish in the oven — shepherd’s pie, by the looks of it— is cooking, he grabs a handful of vegetables out of the fridge. Walking back to a free section of counter space, Edge maintains steady eye contact with him. Like, _ really _ steady eye contact. More accurately, staring. At Stretch. Very intently.

Does he have something on his face? He shouldn’t; they haven’t even started eating, after all. And there’s something more to the staring than a simple ‘huh, that guy needs to wash up’. It’s something deeper. A shiver runs up Stretch’s spine. Then, just as fast as he started, Edge frowns and grabs a knife, ignoring Stretch in favour of finely chopping the veggies.

Suddenly, realisation comes crashing in like a marching band composed solely of cannons. 

No wonder why Edge has been acting so strangely!

Stretch has a crush on Edge. He can admit it, even if only to himself. Well, and Blue too, technically, but that doesn’t matter right now. The point is, his feelings for his roommate are less than platonic. On a scale of one to ten, Stretch would rate his attraction to Edge as being somewhere between a solid seven and an eleven. A twelve when he wears his really tight pants and is cute with Doomfanger. That’s a strong hit to the feels, right there.

On the surface, Stretch has resigned himself to his feelings. It’s not going to happen. Edge is dating this Dyne person, and that’s the end of that. Again, on the surface. This whole repression thing can only work so much.

Oh stars, did he try to come onto Edge when he was drunk the other night? 

Stretch can picture it all too well. Inhibitions lowered, he would try to flirt as Edge dragged him to his bedroom. Knowing himself, he would start with something cheesy, only to move onto being less and less subtle with his intentions. Edge would have probably rolled his eyes, easily fending off his clumsy attempts at anything physical. Stretch has always been a bit handsier when he’s a few drinks in. How many times did Edge have to reject his advances? Even once is too many. 

Fully exposed— hopefully in only the stupid crush thing, because that would be another layer of embarrassment he doesn’t want to deal with — Edge’s avoidance makes a lot more sense. If Stretch was in his shoes, he certainly would feel weird trying to act normal after his roommate confessed having feelings for him while knowing he’s already in a relationship. _ Especially _ if it appeared that his roommate didn’t remember making said confession.

Fuck his life.

Just as Edge carries a large bowl of salad to the table, Stretch scrapes his chair back. He can’t face Edge. Not right now, when he feels like his face could erupt in an embarrassed flush at any moment. Instead, he clears his plate and cutlery from the table.

“Stretch?”

“sorry,” he says, avoiding eye contact. “i, uh, don’t feel too good.” That’s as much an understatement as it is a cover story. “don’t worry about the dishes; i’ll still get to them later for you. enjoy your food.”

Before Edge can respond, Stretch sets the dishes on the counter and takes a shortcut directly to his bed.

He has some life decisions to regret, pronto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:
> 
> Discomfort around the idea of taking medication without being 100% sure what it is.
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edge tries to enjoy his night out with Dyne.

Frowning at his drink, Edge considers whether or not it is worth trying to unglue it from its coaster. The condensation dripping down its sides unfortunately doesn’t seem to be enough to free the glass from the annoying stickiness. Not for the first time of the evening, he tiredly wonders why, exactly, did he allow Dyne to choose this bar.

Dyne, of course, is uncaring to his annoyance. As long as she has those disgustingly oily cheese fries of hers to dig into, she is good to go. Actually, now that he thinks about it, those must be at least half the reason why they are here. According to an intensive rating she made one night while several drinks under, these cheese fries come second only to Grillby’s — which Edge has unofficially banned them from on their nights out together, not wanting his brother to play big brother from the other end of the bar. Besides, at the best of times, Dyne and Red are what he would call begrudgingly cordial; at worst, well, Edge doesn’t want to consider what those two would do to each other if he wasn’t there as a buffer of common fucking sense. Why they can’t bond over their love for all things grease, Edge will never know.

“Hey!” Dyne exclaims, snapping in front of his face. It’s mostly the motion that catches his attention; her scales are too slippery to make much sound, especially when paired with the raucous din of the bar. “Earth to probie!”

“Please,” he scoffs, “I haven’t been your probie for years now.”

Dyne snorts, shoving another handful of fries into her mouth before continuing, “Yeah, and you also haven’t zoned out on me for just as long, and here you are.” Before he can go to deny that — there is a difference between _ thinking _ and _ zoning out_, thank you, and sometimes a person needs the chance to actually make a plan before jumping into action — she asks, “So what’s rattling around that thick skull of yours this time?” 

“Nothing.” Dyne gives him a look, knocking back half of her own drink. “Nothing that is any of your business,” he amends.

And it really isn’t. Putting aside his drink dilemma, Edge’s mind has been preoccupied with trying to figure out what has been going on with his roommate as of late. There is no way that bringing Dyne into that situation, as much as he may respect her as a mentor and friend, will help.

To put it simply, Stretch has been acting strangely. Part of it is likely Edge’s fault; ever since the incident, he has been trying to be respectful of personal boundaries, but even he can admit he probably took it too far into the direction of being completely avoidant. Now, though, the easy sense of cohabitation they had developed seems long gone.

Not that he and Stretch were particularly close before. Those first few weeks had been tense, to say the least. But now? They might as well be back to square one. Perhaps square two; at least this time, he can define Stretch as being an acquaintance rather than a complete stranger. That’s a sure improvement.

Dyne, thankfully, doesn’t pry further. Instead, she starts talking about her plans for date night with Doctor Alphys. Again. Once more, Edge allows his concentration to fade elsewhere. It isn’t entirely intentional; as much as he _really _doesn’t want to hear about what his best friend wants to do to his boss behind closed doors, he does value Dyne’s happiness. For fuck’s sake, he hadn’t spent months helping her draft that letter of hers to Alphys for nothing.

It’s just that, for the time being, his concerns over Stretch’s recent behaviour currently outweigh his feelings about whether or not Dyne should make a reservation at their favourite sushi restaurant. Chances are, regardless of any feedback on his end of things, she would still end up choosing the ‘spontaneous’ — meaning forgetful and impulsive — option.

A strong elbow to his ribcage jolts his focus back to the moment. “Hey,” Dyne says, indicating her head to a table at the other side of the bar. “Check out the monster over there.”

Edge bites back an irritated sigh. He has a strong suspicion of where she is going with this. Yet, he still responds, “I see them. And?”

“What do you think?” Her brows waggle suggestively, and Edge is sure that she would wink if it weren’t for her missing eye making it too difficult to interpret.

Humouring her, he takes a closer look. The warm, dimmed lights of the establishment are generally flattering, but as far as he can tell, it isn’t necessary for this monster. If there is one thing Edge can say about Dyne’s wingmanning abilities, she is good at spotting his type amongst a crowd. However… “I think they need to use their napkin.”

“_Really_,” she groans, “_that’s _ what you decide to notice?”

“There are grease stains all over their shirt. How could I not notice?”

“Picky bastard. That kind of shit hasn’t stopped you before.”

Technically, she has a point. As much as he hates to admit it at the moment, Edge has certainly gone home for the night with messier people. In a place like this, as long as they are eating something, grease spots are almost guaranteed; that is one of the many reasons he had something to eat before meeting up with Dyne.

Hoping it will put an end to this discussion, he ends up saying, “Maybe I’m not in the mood.” 

“Bullshit.” Dyne points accusingly at his leather-clad legs. “You’re wearing your hookup pants.”

“These are _ not _ hookup pants!” Edge hisses, face heating. Honestly!

She rolls her eye, picking up her drink and swirling it in her hand. “You see, punk, you keep telling yourself that. But then, you keep wearing them when you want to get laid.” Dyne looks him up and down, gaze settling at his feet as she adds, “And those boots, too.”

“Just because one of us actually has a sense of fashion,” he sniffs, before trailing off. A sharky grin has spread across her face. _ Oh no_. “Dyne —”

She pays him no heed, speaking half to herself. “Unless…” Her grin widens even more. “... there’s already someone specific you’ve got your eyes set on.”

Edge rests his elbows on the bar’s counter, cradling his skull in his hands. It’s tempting to hide his face completely, setting it between his arms. If it weren’t for the fact that Dyne would never let him live it down — and the fact that he keeps wondering how long it has likely been since someone has wiped the counter down — he probably would. “No. This isn’t happening.”

Except it is happening.

Taking advantage of his stooped position, Dyne gets him in a headlock, noogying him. A few feet away, a bartender glances their way. He must come to the conclusion that a fight isn’t going to break out between them, though, as he soon gets back to work.

“Come on,” she laughs as Edge pulls free from her grasp, glaring at her, “don’t make me order you to tell me, probie!”

“Still not a probie, and you’re not my superior anymore. You can’t order me to do anything.”

“Yeah, but I’m your boss’ fiancée. That should count for something.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” he mutters under his breath, preparing himself for the inevitable interrogation. Even with one eye, Dyne is one of the most perceptive monsters Edge knows.

“Is it someone here?” 

Edge refuses to answer. He tries to keep his expression perfectly blank; between his years on the force with her and their longstanding friendship, he knows that she will be able to tell otherwise.

“No. It isn’t someone here.” Dyne is quiet — a dangerous thing. Then, she picks up another cheese fry, using it to gesture at him. “What about that pretty little roommate of yours that you were going on about?”

Edge swallows. “What about him?” he asks cooly. 

Or so he thinks.

Clearly, something in his tone isn’t quite there. Something gives him away, because Dyne lights up almost immediately, cackling gleefully. “Oh, it totally is! I need to tell Alphys this.”

She grabs her phone out of her pocket, fending off Edge’s attempts at taking it away from her with her other hand. Typing, she turns away, hiding her message from him. Only when she crows out a victorious, “Ha! Sent it!” does she allow him to see the screen.

“‘And they were roommates’?” he reads, thoroughly perplexed. None of the messages he sees above this one give any context. He doesn’t have much of a chance to wonder, though, as Alphys texts back right away.

**♥ Alphy-Alphy Kissy Cutie ♥:** OH MY GOD, THEY WERE ROOMMATES!!!

**♥ Alphy-Alphy Kissy Cutie ♥:** Who are we talking about and when can I start writing uwu

Dyne proceeds to gush back at Doctor Alphys via text, leaving Edge effectively alone with his thoughts.

Yes, if he is to be completely upfront with himself, Dyne might have a point. That could possibly be a reason as to why Stretch’s recent behaviour has been bothering him so much. 

Possibly. 

Objectively speaking, Edge can certainly call Stretch attractive. When he isn’t wearing the same oversized hoodies and track pants for several days straight, he can be nice to look at. Edge would be a liar if he didn’t admit that he has admired his roommate from a distance from time to time. With his sleeves pushed up haphazardly, hands submerged in hot, soapy water, Stretch’s pristine ulnae and radii are often on full display as the two of them clean up from supper each night. Stretch is also warm. Nice to hold, fitting surprisingly well in Edge’s arms… 

And this is why he needs to stop thinking about this.

Besides the problem of Stretch not knowing about what all happened that night, the timing of Edge’s feelings for his roommate seems… suspicious. Part of him wants to brush it all off as that protective side of him. It would be easy enough to do, after all. He has seen Stretch hurt, and the natural recourse is to help him, in whatever way that might be.

_ Stretch, clinging close to Edge’s shirt in his sleep. Edge continuing to hold him as he sits on the edge of the bed, putting every soothing measure he knows to use. Stroking his skull, crooning words of comfort in the darkness of his room. Hoping with all of his ability that the hurt will go away. _

However, the fact remains that Stretch hasn’t asked for Edge’s protection. He hadn’t shared that vulnerability consensually. Even if Edge is perfectly willing to be a pillar of strength for him. Even if Edge now feels confident that any desire to help isn’t from a place of pity or duty, but solely because he _wants _to. Until Stretch willingly goes to him, Edge has no claim to be that protector. And that’s that.

Dyne is in the middle of flagging over the nearest bartender to get them a refill of their drinks when his phone rings. Whipping it out of his back pocket, he can’t help but sit, staring blank-faced at the call display.

“Who’s that?” Dyne leans over his arm, nearly in his lap, as she tries to sneak a peek at his screen. “Is that your _ loverboy _?”

“No, you presumptuous fish. It’s… his brother?”

Somehow, during the process of Stretch moving in, he had ended up with Blue’s phone number. And Blue with his, evidently. At the time he thought it odd — he had barely managed to get Stretch’s contact information before he and Doomfanger had left the clinic, for fuck’s sake — but he didn’t discard it. Emergency contacts are always a good thing to have, and Blue is really the only person Stretch has spoken to him about. Should a situation ever arise, Stretch’s brother is probably someone who should be let in the know.

What Edge would like to know, however, is why Blue is calling him.

Despite the interruptions, Edge manages to accept the call just after the second ring. “Hello?”

“Oh, thank the stars that you answered, Edge!” Blue, who sounds slightly less cheerful and bubbly over the phone than he had in person, hesitates a half-second before verifying, “This is Edge, right?”

“It is.” Scowling, he shoves Dyne out of his personal bubble, mouthing a few select curses. She snorts, rolling her eye before returning to her attention to the bartender, who has been standing by, bored, waiting for one of them.

“That’s good to hear! It would be really inconvenient if I had the wrong number and — well, that’s not the point. Are you home right now?”

Edge straightens, attention thoroughly caught. “Why?” A thread of suspicion colours his tone. Through his peripheral vision, he sees Dyne’s tattered ear fins perk up, even as she continues ordering. 

“It’s just… I’m really worried. About Papy,” Blue clarifies. Faintly in the background, there is a pattern of taps: four quick ones, each one right after the last until they nearly blend together, followed by a quick pause. If Edge were to guess, it would be the sound of Blue’s fingers tapping, bone anxiously meeting against some hard surface. “He was supposed to meet me for supper tonight, but he hasn’t really been answering any of my texts or calls.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s going on.” Frankly, he hasn’t seen Stretch all day. He thought he was home, though. The lights were on in his room, at least, when Edge had left for work this morning. Today being a late day at the clinic, he had been sure to let Stretch know of his plans for the night yesterday, giving him time to prepare whatever he might have wanted to do for the day.

He decides not to share that information with Blue. Not unless he asks. Chances are, it will only worry him further.

Sure enough, what little he had said was enough to earn a wilted, “Oh.” Then, before Edge can say anything else and hang up, Blue asks, “Could you check on him?”

“What?!”

“Please, Edge! My car is in the shop, or I’d go myself. Plus, Papy doesn’t take it well when I check up on him too much, especially if he hasn’t asked me to in the first place, even if he really needs it. And —”

“Fine,” Edge relents, cutting him off before he gets the opportunity to become hysterical. “I’ll go.”

If it was possible to be hugged over the phone, Edge would currently be in the world’s tightest embrace. He is sure of it. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I appreciate it so much!”

“I get it. Now, if you don’t mind hanging up so I can fulfill my promise?”

“Oh! Of course, yes. I’ll let you get to it. Goodbye, Edge! Please let me know what happens!”

“Goodbye, Blue.” Promptly, he hangs up. If he didn’t, he has a feeling that Blue would accidentally keep him on the line for the rest of the night.

“You’re leaving, then,” Dyne says, less of a question than a statement. Stars, it’s after talking to people like Blue that he truly realises how much he prefers it when people can get to the point.

“Yes.” Edge pats himself down, double-checking that he has everything of his before going to hail a cab. He may not have had that much to drink tonight, but better safe than sorry. Speaking of safety, he turns to Dyne and asks, “Will you be fine on your own for the rest of the night?”

She scoffs. “Look who you’re talking to, probie. Of course I am.”

“If you say so.” Still, Edge is skeptical. Grabbing his wallet, he leaves some money to pay for his share of the drinks and snakes his way out of the bar, glaring away anyone stupid enough to grope at him in passing. Mentally, he makes a note to call his brother as soon as he can to ensure she makes it home safe. He’s not worried for her, he convinces himself. No. He’s more worried for whatever idiot that might try to take on such a formidable opponent, tipsy or not.

Now, he just has to go find out what exactly Stretch is doing to make Blue concerned enough to call him, of all people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stretch feels awful and Edge is helping. Sort of.

“ugh,” Stretch groans, squinting at his computer display. Line after line of text, in too small and cramped of a font, swims before his eyes. "this is the last thing i need right now."

All day, he has felt like a hot, steaming pile of crap. This morning, he had been zonked out, despite his many alarms, to the point of sleeping in late, even by his standards. Thankfully, Edge had left half a pot of coffee sitting in the kitchen. With no time to delay, he drank straight from the carafe, praying to the Angel that the cold, burnt dregs would be enough to power him through the day. 

So far, it hasn't been, but a guy can dream, right?

Scrubbing irritably at his sockets, Stretch zooms in on the page. It doesn't make the blurriness go away, but it at least makes it easier to decipher. Sort of. The text feels less cramped, at the very least. Yeah, it means it will take even longer than normal for him to get this done, putting him behind schedule, but something is better than nothing. 

Tiredly, he reaches down to pet a purring Doomfanger. Doomy has been extra needy lately, it seems. Always wanting to be with someone, he will even start yelling if somebody is home and not paying attention to him, horror of horrors. It would be cute if it weren’t so distracting. Thankfully, he settles down nicely enough on Stretch's lap. An adorable, warm ball of fluff to keep him company. The constant batting at his hoodie strings is annoying, but anything is better than the sad mewls. 

A chill runs down Stretch's spine as he notices the way his hand shakes. Or is that just a generic chill? It is pretty cold in his room, even if it shouldn't be. There is a reason he yanked a blanket off his bed to wrap around himself; his normal hoodie, soft and heavy, just hasn’t cut it. Not today.

Except, now that he thinks about it, he can feel the sweat building upon his forehead, waiting to pool down.

_ Shit. _

He is such an idiot for not cluing in sooner! Chills with sweating, extra exhaustion, just feeling like death warmed over in general? Obviously, he has come down with something. And of course, at the worst time possible. Tonight, Blue has planned some kind of huge supper for the two of them. If he figures out that Stretch is sick while he is there, he will never hear the end of it. 

Saving his work — there is no point getting any more work done for the day without messing it all up, he can tell already — he scoops Doomfanger up into his arms. Might as well fill his food bowl now, just in case his nap goes longer than expected and he needs to rush out the door. The moment he stands up from his chair, a wave of dizziness crashes through him. Stretch squeezes his eyes shut and gulps, waiting it out.

_ Stupid low HP. Such a buzzkill. _

Miraculously, Stretch makes it all the way to the kitchen without issues, thank fuck. Doomfanger curiously noses at his food bowl after he refills it, but doesn’t eat yet, which is probably good; if he did, he would probably want breakfast at an unholy time tomorrow morning. Getting to the bathroom to grab cold meds is a bit more of an issue. Although, most of the difficulty comes from trying to keep track of where Doomy is, so things could be worse. 

They could be so much worse.

At least there were cold meds.

As soon as he collapses into bed, Stretch can say for a fact that he will not be able to move any time soon. Limbs leaden, it is a struggle to reach over for his phone. Mostly on autopilot, he sets an alarm. That way, he can rest in peace — or in as much peace as he can when his body feels like this — and still get up in time to chug more medicine and head over to his bro’s place.

Before he knows it, his sockets glue themselves shut, tiredly blocking out the dim light filtering through his curtains. Under his thick stack of blankets, he shifts around uncomfortably. Each movement is a struggle; this way, he is too hot, that way too cold, the other way makes his spine and ribs ache… Finding a proper position is hard. 

Still, despite this, Stretch falls asleep in a matter of minutes.

Hours pass. Stretch remains asleep through it all, not even the incoherently disturbing images of medical syringes chasing him through a long, narrow hallway in his feverish dreams enough to wake him.

Yet… his phone remains silent. 

As Stretch would learn later, creating an alarm doesn’t do any good if he forgets to officially save and set it in his feverish state.

* * *

Warm.

Too warm, really. But also, too cold. It’s like some of his bones were placed in the freezer and other bones were left sitting on the sidewalk on a hot, sunny summer’s day. Stretch tries to curl into the territory of too warm; that seems a little more comfortable than too cold.

Except… he can’t.

Blearily, he pries his eyes open. The room is mostly dark, a large ribbon of light entering from the hallway from his now open door. Funny; he doesn’t remember unlatching the door. Did Doomfanger manage to push it open, maybe?

Wait, that can’t be right. 

Stretch still isn’t awake enough to properly focus his eye lights, but he _ can _see that someone else is in here. Someone who is now grabbing him by the shoulders, shaking him gently… Edge? Edge. What’s Edge doing here? He’s supposed to be at work right now, and then he has his night out with his girlfriend and —

“Stretch,” Edge says sharply, interrupting his derailing thought process, “what the _ fuck _ are you doing here?”

“napping?” he manages to say, his voice little more than a hoarse, sad croak. Oh stars, his voice sounds gross. Yet, it is nothing compared to how garbage he feels. How is it that he feels worse now than before? 

“Napping,” Edge repeats skeptically. He releases his grip, narrowing his eyes as he guides Stretch back down to his pillows. That’s pretty nice of him. 

Pillows are also very nice. And sleep. Especially right now, when his magic feels all over the place and the cold meds are going strong and sleep would be a good solution to both of those problems.

Except, as soon as his eyes start drifting shut again, Edge squeezes his shoulder, startling him back awake. Ish.

“what?” he coughs. Ew, that’s phlegmy. Fun.

Enunciating slowly, as if concerned that he won’t be able to understand otherwise, Edge asks, “Are you ill?”

At any other time, Stretch would love to give a snarky response. A roll of his eyes, a snide ‘you think?’ followed by a sneeze because why not. He would, but that takes more energy than he has at the moment, more thought juice than he can currently pour out, so he sticks with the accurate but boring response of “prob’ly.”

The word is barely mumbled out before Edge has a hand — a bare hand, all bones without a glove covering them — on his forehead, beautifully cool. Instinctively, Stretch reaches up to grab that hand when it begins to pull away. The cool should stay. It’s good.

“I’ll be back,” Edge says. “You go to sleep, now. I’ll take care of everything.”

Stretch doesn’t have to be told twice. Gladly, he burrows back under the covers, falling asleep before Edge closes the door.

* * *

Along with a tray of easy to stomach foods and a fresh dose of medicine, the next morning comes with a whole bunch of clarity. 

Apparently, Blue had sent Edge running after him last night when he hadn’t shown up for supper and wasn’t responding to his phone. Whoops. Of course, that must mean that he had ditched his date to do so; if Stretch ever meets his girlfriend, he sure has a lot of stuff to apologise for. Not that he is going to mention half of it, but his point still stands.

Edge deciding to stay home from work to take care of Stretch only adds to the ever-growing list of things he has to feel guilty for. The guy has enough stuff he has to do; Stretch is the last person he should be giving up his own life for. 

Instead, his roommate acts the part of a natural caregiver, as annoyingly smothering as he is helpful. Every few minutes — or probably hours; Stretch’s sense of time always becomes questionable when he is sick — Edge knocks on his door. Checking in on him, mostly. The thermometer comes out every once in a while, always bearing the dumb news that surprise, his fever isn’t getting any better. Then, of course, comes the cool cloths, not that Stretch is going to complain about those, and the clear liquids. The cycle repeats and repeats.

At this point, it is hard to tell which way Stretch feels the most miserable: physically or emotionally?

With a groan, Stretch pushes himself up to a sitting position, his pillows propped up to help support him. He’s exhausted, yet tired of sleeping. At his old apartment, this would be the point where he would give up and camp out on the living room couch. There, he would have tv to entertain him. Here? Not so much. 

On the plus side, Doomy is here for him, normal as always besides being a tad cuddlier. He could always try to find some kind of laser app on his phone and let the little kitty try to chase it. That might be fun.

… for maybe five minutes. After that point, Doom decides to go back to the land of the nap. Lucky him.

“Stretch,” Edge knocks at his door, right on schedule. “May I come in?”

Sighing, he says, “whatever.” If there is one thing he has figured out today, it’s that getting Edge’s nursing over and done with is the better choice. 

Stepping inside, he closes the door with his foot. “I brought some ginger ale.” Because as much as Stretch may protest that he isn’t nauseous, fuck knows that Edge doesn’t believe him. “Also, I’ve started a bath for you.”

Unable to dredge up any energy for enthusiasm, he mutters, “great.” Admittedly, a bath would be nice; it might help with some of the achiness in his everything. Plus, it would probably do him some good to try and steam out some of the congestion. Yeah. That would be fantastic.

Stretch reluctantly allows Edge to guide him to the bathroom, a steadying hand at his elbow to prevent any stumbles or falls. That, he can handle. Just like how he can tolerate Edge giving him reminders to get out of the tub if the heat begins to make him feel lightheaded; passing out in the bath doesn’t exactly sound like a swell time.

What he can’t deal with, however, is Edge’s hands tugging at the top button of his pyjama shirt.

“what the hell are you doing?”

“Helping you into the bath,” he responds matter of factly, the slightest hint of confusion seeping into his voice and how dare he? If anyone should get to be confused right now, it is clearly Stretch. He undoes the button, moving to the next when Stretch swats his hands away.

In pretty much any other context, Edge undressing him would be an absolute yell yeah. Keep going, advance to go and collect two hundred. Except, Stretch doesn’t wanna be a relationship wrecker, so scratch that. Most other circumstances, though, this would be very welcomed.

But now?

“yeah, how ‘bout no. i’m a big boy and i can bathe myself. i’d like some privacy now, so if you could…?” Stretch gestures to the door.

Edge falters. “But, I’m —”

“i’m not a sick puppy,” Stretch snaps icily, “so you can stop now.” There is a slight recoil on Edge’s part, which he ignores. Someone has to establish a line somewhere, and letting Edge bathe him is definitely passed it.

Edge is stiff as he nods, lowering his eye lights to the blue-tiled floor. “Of course. I’ll… I’ll leave you alone.”

* * *

Edge stays true to his word.

For the rest of the day, all interference is at an absolute minimum. The only time Edge comes in Stretch’s room is to bring in supper. He wordlessly tests his temperature and frowns at the results. Refilling his cup of water, Edge doesn’t give him a second glance before leaving.

Somehow, this clinical, detached treatment hurts more than when he was completely overbearing.

<strike> Stretch can’t decide whether or not it should be surprising that it is. </strike>

This behaviour follows into the next day. Edge still takes time off work, but this time, he doesn’t even have the excuse of watching over Stretch. Not really. The only reason he even knows his roomie is even in the house is because he sometimes wakes up to more food, a tiny cup of medicine, a note informing him about his most recent temperature reading. 

How, exactly, Edge manages to only do that when Stretch is sleeping is beyond him, but he sure gets the damn message: Edge is giving him the space he asked for.

The low point of his day is when Blue comes over in the evening. Don’t get it wrong; Stretch adores his bro. He truly does. Blue works so damn hard at every single thing he does. He cares so much about everything, and Stretch can only dream of having a fraction of his neverending drive.

But when Stretch is sick? Well, let’s just say that all those things he loves about his brother tend to make him lose what little marbles he has left. 

What he would give to have Edge back.

“Papy?” Blue whispers, although that tends to be more of a stage whisper with him. “Are you awake? I brought you some of my special soup.”

Oh stars help him. The spicy chicken soup is easily, in Stretch’s opinion, the worst thing that Blue cooks. He isn’t sure if it is because it’s really _ that _ bad — although nothing will convince him that it isn’t awful — or if it is because it is one of the only things Blue lets him eat when he is sick, so he has been overexposed to it. Both, maybe.

Stretch hits a new low in the next few hours. Any attempts at sleeping are unintentionally thwarted by Blue; believe it or not, it’s pretty hard to snooze when someone is constantly readjusting his blankets, checking his temperature, getting some more fluids into him, managing his med schedule… Stretch prides himself on his napping skills, but even a master has his limits.

Sighing heavily in relief as Blue leaves his bedroom, Stretch shuts his eyes. Each breath seems to take effort, and not just because he is all stuffed up. The room is stale with sickness, because angel forbid they open a window and he gets more chilled. 

He can’t wait to get over this stupid cold.

A steady set of footsteps, muffled against the carpet, approaches. If he keeps his eyes closed, will he be able to convince Blue to let him be because he’s sleeping? 

“Stretch?”

That’s not Blue.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Edge murmurs as Stretch curiously opens a single socket, “but I thought I should let you know that your brother went out to buy some more medication. He should be back in about half an hour.”

Baffled, his other eye flies open. “did we run out already?” Sure, he had been going through a lot, but the bulk-sized bottle had been unopened before Stretch got into it.

Edge doesn’t answer, looking to the side. Following his gaze, he sees nothing. However, clarity hits and he exclaims, “holy shit, did you dump out the meds or something?”

“I wouldn’t waste something like that,” Edge protests.

“but…” Stretch prompts, sitting up. There is no way he can avoid having involvement; no way, no how.

“But I _ might _ have hidden them to get your brother out of the house for a while so you can actually rest.”

Bless! Speaking impulsively, Stretch doesn’t consider the words that fly out of his mouth. “i hope you know that if i weren’t sick, i would absolutely kiss you right now.”

“Noted.” He coughs, clearing his throat. “Well, I’ll let you be.” 

“wait!”

Edge pauses, turning back on his heel. “Yes?”

“could you…” Stretch looks down at his blanket, the comforter’s rusty orange fabric dark against his hands. Taking a deep breath, he forces himself to continue, “could you stay? for just a few minutes?”

Nodding, Edge grabs his desk chair, carrying it over despite the fact that it has wheels. He settles it right beside the bed before sitting down, which is nice; it has been a bit weird, actually having to look up to see people eye to eye.

As soon as he does, Stretch can’t help but blurt out, “i’m sorry.” At Edge’s quizzically raised brow, he explains, “for being such a grumpy pain in the ass yesterday. and in general, but especially yesterday.”

“Nonsense,” Edge scoffs. “If anyone should be apologising for being a pain, it should be me. In retrospect, I’ve been completely overbearing. It wasn’t my place.”

Stretch shakes his head. “maybe, but that doesn’t mean i haven’t appreciated your help. we cool?”

The barest hint of a smile makes its way onto Edge’s face. “We’re cool.”

“cool.”

After that riveting bit of conversation, things are silent between them. Silent, that is, if they were to ignore Stretch’s slightly wheezy breathing, but whatever. Close enough. 

Despite this, Edge doesn’t leave. 

A large part of that is likely Doomfanger’s fault. With a sudden burst of energy, the little furball had decided to pounce from the foot of Stretch’s bed all the way to Edge’s lap, effectively trapping him. No one, after all, can deny Doomy’s needs for pets; it’s impossible.

Blue, of course, soon returns with a fresh batch of meds. Weirdly enough, his brother is a lot more chill with Edge there supervising. Stretch should probably be annoyed with that, but meh, the extra strength nighttime cold meds Blue gave him help a lot with that; it is hard to overthink things when the sleep aids are kicking in, making his mind vaguely fuzzy. But it’s a nice fuzziness, so he’s not complaining.

Stretch snuggles into the covers. He had been sitting up, but the whole staying vertical thing is a lot of work right now. Way too much work. Clumsily, he reaches his arm over to scritch behind Doomy’s ears.

He misses.

“whoops. sorry about that.” 

“It’s fine,” Edge says, even as he picks up Stretch’s hand and moves it from his lap to the top of Doomfanger’s head.

Stretch yawns, eyes slipping shut. “edge?”

“Yes, Stretch?” He sounds more curious than concerned, which is nice. Stretch is kinda tired of people being worried about him. He is also tired in general right now. There’s just a whole lot of tired going around. “What is it?”

Stretch hums sleepily, appreciating the question and the voice behind it. Stars, he could really listen to Edge talk all day when he’s nice and calm like this. Hell, even when he’s loud and irritating. But when he lowers his voice… there’s something about listening to that slight rasp when it is quiet. It sends a pleasant shiver down Stretch’s spine.

What would it be like, he wonders, to have that voice whisper sweet things next to his skull?

“Stretch? Are you still awake?”

Oh yeah. He should probably answer, huh? Edge is waiting for him to, after all. That’s nice of him. He could be doing his own stuff right now, but here he is, spending time with someone who can barely stay awake to talk to him. 

He’s such a great guy.

Soul warm with contentment, he rolls over to face the wall. “i love you, man,” he mumbles, half into his pillow.

Sleep promptly washes over him, leaving him heedless of the shocked sputtering of the skeleton watching over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the first 50% of this chapter was written while I was on a steady dose of cold meds, so this was nice and real to me. 
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edge tries — and fails — to compute Stretch's accidental confession.

Stretch… he couldn’t possibly have meant that.

Swallowing, Edge shoves back the tenderly spoken phrase, filled to the brim with appreciation. He forces himself to disregard the way that his ill roommate had curled up in complete and utter relaxation, falling asleep with a smoothness unseen by Edge until this point. The way Stretch had smiled sweetly, making his soul ache in his chest. Edge ignores it all, because Stretch. Didn’t. Fucking. Mean. It.

There is absolutely no way that he did. He was far too out of it; he probably didn’t even realise who he was talking to! Most likely, in his state of mild to moderate delirium, he had thought he was speaking to his brother. Yes, that must be it. As incoherent as he was, Stretch must not have been able to tell the difference between Blue and Edge —

Who is over a foot taller than Blue and looks nothing like him aside from them both being skeleton monsters. Fuck.

Refusing to allow himself to start hoping again, Edge reminds himself that Stretch had been mostly conked out on cold meds at the time. When he had tried to pet Doom, he was a mile off; this would seem to indicate that his vision wasn’t all the way there. And that, of course, is before taking into account that he was facing the other way. He couldn’t have seen who it was he was talking to.

Except… he had also called Edge out by name just before saying that. Typically, calling someone by name would indicate that they are aware of that person’s presence. Maybe…

No. Complete and utter nonsense. Stretch had zoned out for a solid minute in between those two statements. Perhaps longer. He could have easily forgotten who he was speaking with during that time. It is more than possible.

Then again, it’s also possible that he didn’t. There is a chance, no matter how small, that he was fully aware that he was talking to Edge.

Still, he shouldn’t dwell on it. Chances are, even if he did mean that message for him, he didn’t mean it _that _way. Yes, that’s it. Stretch was simply trying to express his gratitude and things became a little more muddled between his mental state and Edge’s foolish sentiment. Really, it was nothing more than platonic.

“i love you, man,” was just an expression of gratitude. The end.

_ But_, the stupidly optimistic part of his mind prods, what about what he had said earlier? When Edge had told him about his ruse to give him some space from his brother, his face had lit up in gorgeous delight. _ I hope you know that if I weren’t sick, I would absolutely kiss you right now. _ That seems all too delightfully clear, and oh so tempting of an offer.

Nonsense. That is common enough of an expression; there is no way he can read anything into that.

Stuck in the sticky trap of his thoughts, Edge doesn’t move from Stretch’s bedside. Even though he has finally succumbed to a fever-fueled sleep and Doom has wandered off to explore, he stays, stroking his hand. Each bone is cold to the touch, a stark contrast to when Edge lays his other hand against Stretch’s forehead.

Carefully, he readjusts Stretch’s blankets, tucking in him safe and secure. The bed is a rainbow pell-mell of warmth, various blankets and pillows assembled in an attempt to keep him as comfortable as possible. A veritable nest, there should be nothing standing in the way of Stretch’s rest — and hopefully, his speedy recovery.

In his sleep, a soft sigh escapes his roommate’s mouth, followed by a small trail of drool. Honestly, something like that has no right to be so endearing; it should disgust him, seeing those bodily fluids as sickly magic continues to clog up Stretch’s nasal cavity. His soul is absolutely stupid for pulsing when he sees it in that same traitorous way that it had when Stretch told him _that_.

_ “i love you, man.” _

In the end, it doesn’t matter. Whether or not Stretch was being sincere or Edge simply read too much into everything, it doesn’t fucking matter. Not one damn bit. Even if he meant it, Stretch wasn’t fully coherent; he wasn’t in control of his faculties. To hold him to words that he said in such a state, it would be beyond inconsiderate. It would be cruel.

Decision on the matter firmly made, Edge sets his phone on the nightstand, beside the half-filled glass of water. Keeping it near, just in case, seems like a good decision. He doubts there will be anything; Blue should be driving back by this point, and he updated Undyne to the situation yesterday. Shortly afterward, he had received an email from Doctor Alphys, telling him to take the next few days off. In the message, she gave the excuse that she needs the time to train another tech, but he wasn’t born yesterday. He appreciates it, though; Stretch really shouldn’t be left alone right now.

That, of course, is how Edge justifies his decision to keep watch at Stretch’s bedside. Less than an arm’s length away, he is ready for whatever he may need. Whatever, whenever.

Stars, that excuse sounds flimsy, even to himself.

Another sound, thin and wheezy, startles Edge's attention back down to Stretch. Already having steeled himself for the worst, he can't help but sigh in relief when he realises it was just a little sleeping snuffle, the tone morphed by his clogged nasal cavity. Under the blankets, Stretch… well, he stretches out his legs, kicking lightly as he shifts to lie on his side. Reaching up like a child for their teddy bear, he clings onto Edge’s hand. This, apparently, is what Stretch wanted: he sighs contentedly, his face relaxing into something more peaceful. His expression calms more when Edge brings up his other hand to continue his gentle stroking.

Edge smiles, his soul light. 

It’s so much nicer, watching Stretch sleep like this. Now, when his face isn’t twisted in terror from nightmares. When he isn’t saying horrifying things. Last time, Edge was far too concerned about his roommate’s wellbeing to truly appreciate it.

Of course, just because there has been an improvement, it doesn’t mean that things are perfect. It would be better to see Stretch sleeping when he isn’t riddled by illness. His bones should be sleeker and gleaming with health, not feverishly mottled in illness. Edge can imagine it so easily; after all, he has walked in on Stretch napping in weird places so many times. But back then, he was too much a fool to truly enjoy the sight.

…

Okay, that makes him sound like a creep, as though he is going around spying on his unconscious roommate without his knowledge. That isn’t his intention. Not in the slightest. And that is precisely why Edge pushes back the thought about the ideal situation, where he would be lying in bed beside Stretch, all of his hypothetical advances eagerly welcomed. 

That is nothing but naïve fancy.

Behind him, the door creaks open. It brightens the room a considerable amount; the only source of light until now has been an old desk lamp. “I’m back,” Blue says in a stage whisper, a small grocery bag from the nearest pharmacy in hand. “How’s Papy?”

“Asleep,” Edge replies. He, however, has his voice lowered to a proper level. Not that it makes any difference; even if he didn’t have cold meds in his system, Stretch would likely still be out like a light.

“Good, good.” Taking a fresh bottle of medicine out of the bag, Blue pauses. “Is he okay?”

“As okay as he has been. Why?”

Blue sends a pointed look to his brother. More specifically, his brother’s hands, which are still being stroked by Edge. Ah. He… he didn’t even realise he hadn’t stopped; it has become an unconscious action at this point. Clearing his throat, he snatches the bottle away from Blue. “Let me take care of that,” he mutters, turning his head in a fruitless attempt to hide the flush he can feel building high on his face. He sets it on Stretch’s night table.

“Thank you, Edge.”

“You’re welcome.”

Gingerly, Blue sits down on the edge of the bed. He turns to look at Stretch, brow furrowed with worry. Stretch doesn’t stir. Hands wringing in his lap, the stars of his eye lights are dull when he looks up at Edge. “Do you think he’s getting any better?”

“I’m not sure,” he answers honestly. “The rest seems to be doing him good, though.”

Blue nods. “Papy always did like his rest. I just don’t know if I can take another day off work to help him, especially at this time of year.”

“Oh?” Edge says idly. If he was aware of the fact that this would be the catalyst to Blue babbling on about his job as a guidance counselor at some nearby middle school, he… he probably would have still said it; that’s supposed to be the polite thing to do, after all. 

It’s just a real shame that he is going through all this effort when Edge can only manage to pay attention to every other word. He’s sure that what Blue is saying is probably intriguing at the least. However, Edge’s concentration is currently monopolised by a single skeleton, and needless to say, it isn’t Blue.

“But I suppose,” he continues, hardly having taken a breath this entire time, “if Papy isn’t better, I really have no choice but to take off —”

“No, Blue.” Edge cuts him off, finally focusing. “You should be there for your students. Stretch will be fine.”

Shaking his head in a way that makes his own cervical vertebrae ache sympathetically, Blue protests, “But what if —”

“Besides… I don’t have work tomorrow; I can stay with him.”

This manages to get the smaller skeleton to calm down. Edge can practically hear him sigh in relief. “Are you sure? I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

Gently, Edge says, “It’s fine.” Briefly, he considers patting his hands in some kind of gesture of comfort, but ultimately refrains from doing so. Too awkward, and very unlike him. 

He ignores the fact that he would do the same thing for Stretch without a second thought. That’s different.

For a while, neither of them say anything. In the relatively dark room with Stretch sleeping, it doesn’t feel as necessary to entertain each other. Edge can simply stare at the bed in silence, evaluating the sheets to see whether he should try and wash them later.

He should, he decides. Sometime tomorrow. They are coated in too much sweat and sickness; the darkened stains are visible even with the lights off. He can do it when he persuades Stretch to take another bath. New sheets, clean and warm from the dryer, would do him good. Yes. That would be an excellent plan.

Soon, Doom nudges his way back inside, eager to see what all the skeletons are doing in here without him. His litter box is probably due for a change. Tail high, he gives Edge a cursory glance and slow blink before rubbing his creamy grey head on Blue’s ankles. Obligingly, he leans down to pet him, only to gasp when Doom decides the perfect place to plop down is his feet. Edge fights back a smirk.

That becomes easier to do when Blue suddenly stops petting the kitten to look up at him.

“Edge, I’m worried.”

“It’s going to be fine, Blue. Your brother is going to get over his illness just fine.”

“I know,” he sighs, “but it’s not just that. Stretch…” Trailing off, he wrings his hands in his lap. Hesitantly, he asks, “Can you keep this private? Papy can be a bit self-conscious, but I think you should be prepared.”

“I… yes. I can.” It means pushing back that cloyingly bitter sense of guilt from going behind Stretch’s back. However, it isn’t as if this is the first time he has found something out regarding his roommate without him properly consenting to share. Whatever information Blue has can get added to the pile. Hopefully, this will at least help Stretch in the long run.

“All right.” Taking out a handkerchief to delicately wipe the sweat away from Stretch’s skull, he explains, “My brother, he has never taken well to being sick. His HP has always been so painfully low; as long as I can remember, it’s been stuck at one. But it’s more than that, Edge.” 

Stretch squirms at the panicked increase in his brother's volume. Covering his mouth with his hand, Blue watches wide-eyed until he settles back down. Rather fussily, he pulls up Stretch's blankets, all the way up to his chin.

His voice pitched down to a whisper once more, Blue murmurs, "There, there, Papy."

“You were saying,” Edge prompts after a few seconds, matching his tone.

“Right.” Breathing out, he continues, “He always seems so _off _when he’s sick. Not himself at all.”

The past few days pass through Edge’s mind as he tries to reflect upon Stretch’s behaviour. He can’t really think of too much of note. Perhaps his roommate has been a touch more irritable, but aren’t most people when they’re under the weather? His own brother certainly is, and Red is a miserable goblin of a monster at the best of times.

Plus, Edge would be lying if he said that Stretch showing off that extra spitfire — despite occurring under less than ideal circumstances — didn’t make his soul flutter in the most traitorous of ways.

Unable to discredit Blue, he simply nods. “I’ll watch out for him.”

“Thank you. I should probably get going; traffic will be awful if I don’t.” Bending down, he tries in vain to move Doomfanger off his feet. “Come on,” he coaxes, “I’m sure you can find a comfier place than my feet to sleep.”

Needless to say, Doom disagrees.

Shaking his head in amusement, Edge scoops the little kitten up, giving him a whispered scolding for holding their guest captive. As far as he can tell, Blue doesn’t notice him reminding Doomfanger that the only people he should capture are intruders, which Blue is most certainly not. He is too busy pressing a gentle kiss to Stretch’s forehead.

“Bye Papy. Get better soon.” Brushing his pants smooth of wrinkles as he stands up, Blue says, “Thank you again, Edge, and don’t forget to get some sleep. It won’t do you or Papy any good if you fall ill.”

Mouth upturning the slightest bit, Edge says, “I will. And the same for you. Do you mind locking the door behind you when you leave.”

“Of course.” He sends one last look to Stretch. Letting out a deep breath, he walks out. Edge listens to the steady tempo of his footsteps through the halls, waiting to hear the front door shut behind him.

“mmmmnnng?” Blearily, Stretch blinks up at Edge. Even before he speaks, speech fully slurred, Edge can tell that he is mostly out of it. “where’s blue?”

“He just went home.”

Stretch nods, the motion slow and laborious. His eye lights are diffused to the point that they nearly fill his sockets completely. “‘kay,” he yawns. A few sleepy blinks later, they focus fractionally. “you’re still here,” he observes, wonder filling his voice.

“I am,” Edge agrees. He chooses to say nothing more, too curious to see whether Stretch will go anywhere with this.

He isn’t disappointed.

“good.” Nestling further into the blankets, Stretch sighs. At this point, he is buried until all Edge can see is the part of his skull above the bump of his nasal bone. He sneezes. The ticklish sensation of fuzzy fleece brushing against the inside of his nasal cavity probably doesn’t help with cold-related side effects. Eyelids fluttering shut, Stretch only says one more word before he falls back asleep. “good.”

Oh.

Edge swallows, rubbing at his sternum. The action is completely futile against stilling his rapidly beating soul. It’s reading too much into Stretch’s barely coherent ramblings again; it’s being stupid, so it doesn’t get a say in anything.

Determined to distract himself, Edge decides to make good on his promise to Blue. 

After a brief break to change Doomfanger’s litter box and check on his food and water bowls, Edge returns to Stretch’s room. Flipping off the desk lamp, he grabs a folded blanket from the foot of Stretch’s bed. Curling up on the rolling chair isn’t the easiest thing for a skeleton of his height, but it is doable. Certainly, it isn’t the worst place he has slept over the years. 

Besides, he convinces himself, this way he can be ready should Stretch wake up and need him. Yes. That is absolutely why he is staying here instead of his room down the hall, or even the living room. For Stretch’s sake. Definitely not because he is being ignorantly hopeful, reading far more into Stretch’s words than intended.

He closes his eyes, those words still echoing through his mind.

_ “i love you, man.” _

At least for now, he can pretend the feelings are mutual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time.


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